


Vae Victis

by deltachye



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dark, Depression, Explicit Language, F/M, Genocide, Historical References, Language, PTSD, Racism, Reader-Insert, Romantic Angst, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 20:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8115928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x roy mustang]Woe to the conquered.Because despite the fact that you'd won, you were never able to escape.[Rewrite of 2010/2011 "Home Is Where the Heart Is"]





	1. [i] - The Last Thing I'll Do

❝ _woe to the conquered._ ❞

* * *

 

“Well, I hadn’t expected my rival to be such a pretty woman.”

You set down your glass of water and gave a cold smile to the baby-faced man in front of you.

“I hadn’t expected _mine_ to look fourteen.”

His ego crumbled under your scathing words and you resumed drinking, sighing quietly. Your nerves were making you jittery and you felt as if you might faint at any moment. You grit your teeth and tightened your hold on the cup. That wouldn’t do. You _had_ to receive state certification. If it were the last thing you would ever do.

“I don’t fancy the phrase ‘last thing I’ll do’. Implies that death is the end part of that equation.”

You jumped, not expecting the man to still be standing there. Your cheeks flushed when you realized you’d been whispering to yourself. He leant on the wall beside you but stared forwards, at the doors of the lecture hall. The written exam would be starting in five minutes.

“Are you afraid of death, then?” you asked, too intrigued by his powerful and strange presence to ignore him any longer.

“Aren’t we all?”

“No. I’m not. After all, we’re all born to die.”

He smirked and looked at you. “You’re going to eat your words someday.”

A grin tugged at the corners of your lips, and you hastily covered your mouth with a hand to hide it.

“Say, why don’t you give me a name to go with that hideous face?”

“That’s rude. But it’s fine, because you don’t need to know my name. You’ll hear it following ‘Major’ soon enough.”

“Major?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You haven’t even passed the first exam yet. How can you be so sure you’ll even get the title ‘private’, much less ‘major’?”

His smug expression only grew.

“Just watch me.”

To this day, you still did not know if you regretted meeting him. But you were sure that you had taken some sort of affinity to him, and to that, you knew you would never forget.

\---

“Hey!”

You turned at the sound and gasped.

“ _You_?”

“Is that any way to greet a fellow officer?” his grin was almost as shiny as the pocket watch he shoved in your face. You batted his hand away.

“It’s been a while, Babyface,” you said, moving aside so that he had room to walk next to you. “How’ve you been?”

Despite the fact that you hadn’t seen the man for nearly 3 years, he acted as if you were his comrade of 5, clapping you on the shoulder with a powerful hand. The military had accepted 3 State Alchemists that year. An old researcher, you, and him.

“Darling, there’s no need for formalities between us.” He laughed at your disgusted expression, before his angular features took on a grimace. “…you’ve heard, right?”

Your walking slowed. “Yeah. Ishval. Can you believe it?”

“The rebellion’s been going on for far too long. Come to think of it, it’s surprising we weren’t sent in earlier.”

“When are you being deployed?”

“0600, Friday.”

You blinked. “Me too…”

He smiled, but it held none of the conceit you remembered from before. He looked genuinely happy.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you.”

“Lookin’ forward to it,” you said in a daze, watching him walk away with such purpose that you couldn’t help but feel the urge to salute.

\---

“Private!” you screamed, but it was already too late. You had been too slow and the boy crumpled to his knees, falling forwards into his own blood. You wanted to reach him but the oncoming rain of gunfire forced you to duck behind the crumbling Ishvalan building. The sandstone did nothing to block the impact of the bullets, and as you knelt, you knew you only had seconds before it fell. You closed your eyes and waited to die, until a sharp yell brought you back into action.

“What are you doing, Major?!”

The authoritative voice made you spin around, your reflexes similar to that of a wild hound. The blazing desert sun made it difficult to identify the figure, but the telltale snap of his fingers was enough.

“Mustang… Roy.” You wheezed for breath as he knelt beside you. The air was filled with ash and the acrid smell of burnt flesh. He ignored you and glanced down at your injury.

“You still have your circles, don’t you?”

Weakly, you felt for the engraved alchemic bracelet on your wrist. It scalded you at the touch. Obediently, you nodded.

“Then why aren’t you using it?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“I…” your voice wavered and you looked away, suddenly aware of your overwhelming guilt.

“You’re the Drawing Life Alchemist for God’s sake, do something! Lives are being lost here!”

The private’s face flashed before your eyes. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen.

“Why should I?!” you spat, a spray of blood coming with the words. He wiped it off of his face with his singed sleeve. “Why should I do _anything_ for God’s sake? If God were real, wouldn’t He do something about this? Wouldn’t He?!”

“You’re delirious,” he muttered, taking your arm and slinging it over his shoulder. “Come on, I’m getting you to the backlines.”

“Drawing Life Alchemist,” you hissed with rancour. “Because I draw from the energy of organisms, weakening them… making them unable to fight back. And I use that same energy that sustained them to end their lives.” The bracelets on your wrists felt tight. Like handcuffs.

“It’s an invaluable and unmatched power—”

“I should have taken the name ‘Stealing Alchemist’. It would have fit me better, don’t you think?” you staggered against him, the sun on your neck and the blood oozing from your gut making you feel too faint to continue. You panted heavily as he dragged your limp body along.

“It’s not just the energy from their molecules I take,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. You turned your eyes up to the blue sky, which was steadily becoming obscured with the dust created by gunfire. “I steal their will to live… I steal their dignity. Isn’t it a human right to die with dignity? What right do I have to take that from them…?”

“Conserve your strength.”

You obeyed by losing consciousness, only aware of the tears creating fresh rivulets down your dirt and blood streaked face.

\---

“You’re awake.”

“Mustang?”

You were then hailed with a hacking cough that forcibly brought you to a sitting position. Your hands dug into your wound as you struggled to contain the blazing pain. You spat coagulated blood from your mouth onto the dirt ground. The tent flapped in the wind.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked hoarsely, despite the fact it was a stupid question. “Marcoh managed to restore the lost blood and close your wound. But you still need rest.”

“I see,” you said, your gaze wandering around the room. There were other of patients, but they all looked in worse shape than you. The dead private lay across from you. You recognized his youthful face immediately. You had to swallow down bile when you saw the bullet holes in his skull.

“We ran out of cloth to cover them,” Mustang said once he followed your gaze. You chuckled once, darkly.

“We don’t even have a scrap of fabric to pay our respects to the dead. I bet his family won’t even get word.”

“Look… about earlier.”

“Nevermind,” you said huskily, cutting him off. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We’ve all done some pretty bad things, Major.”

You raised your head to look at him. Your eyesight was still blurry, but you could tell that he wasn’t looking at you, but down at the bed. As if he were ashamed. You distantly wondered why he addressed you by rank and nothing more. No, you knew why. It was easier to detach from people that way. He knew your name, but if he spoke it, he’d have an attachment to you.

And it’d hurt that much more when you inevitably died.

_“Are you afraid of death?” you asked._

_“Aren’t we all?”_

_“No. I’m not. After all, we’re all born to die.”_

_He smirked. “You’re going to eat your words someday.”_

He had been right. Your fingers curled into a weak fist, and you realized that you were afraid. You had knocked shoes with death and now you were afraid to die, because that would mean the ultimate end. But what right did you have to fear death? You’d taken so many already. Wasn’t it time to atone for your sins?

“Hey, look at me. Look up!”

You did.

“It was ordered of you. You were a soldier, doing your job, which was deemed necessary by the State.”

“How can I trust the State anymore?” you whispered, too tired to wipe the fresh tears rolling down your cheeks. “How can I trust that what I’m doing is right…?”

“It is,” he said firmly.

“And why do you think that?”

“Because it just _is_. It has to be. Okay?”

You hesitated before letting a sob pass your ground together teeth. Mustang stood to go, but not before clasping his hand over yours. His thumb brushed a stray tear away from your nose. You knew he was lying to you, of course, but you chose to believe him. You chose to lie to yourself, because then, everything would be okay.

Weak scum, you were.

\---

“It’s over,” you said serenely, after scaling the hill. Despite it being a fairly mild climb, you were winded, the scar tissue on your chest not yet strengthened. There was no need to call to him to make note of your presence. The setting sun dyed everything that touched its light a bitter orange, and you could see his dark hair swaying in the hot breeze.

“I know,” he replied after a long silence. “We received word an hour ago.”

“My forces were held up in 3rd quadrant. I only found out half an hour ago myself.”

You stood beside him, looking out over the city. It was still smoking, black clouds of ash and death trailing up to the sky. Each gust of wind blew it further, until soon, it became nothing more a stained memory.

“They were holy people… I’m sure that they believe that they’re with their Creator, now. In a way, it’s better than having to live crippled, or alone.” You put a reassuring hand on his arm and was surprised to feel him shudder at your touch. He was shaking like a drunk without his drug.

“It’s over,” he repeated, his voice in disbelief. He turned to look at you, his eyes so weary that you felt as if you could lose yourself trying to figure out the depth of his sorrow. “Hey, Major.”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to be Führer, someday… maybe not soon, but someday, I’m going to be Führer.”

You couldn’t help but remember when you’d first met him, and he blatantly declared that he would pass without having any indication of doubt. He was older now. Less naïve. But it held the same striking confidence, and suddenly, you felt as if you could believe him. His voice was clear and you shivered, taking your hand off of him.

“Can you make a promise?”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Depends on what you’re asking, Mustang.”

“Will you support me all the way to the top?”

Again, you were so surprised that you were silent. The sun sank behind the horizon and night took hold. Faraway stars gleamed in the velvety blanket of sky, unaware of all that had happened. They were so much clearer than they were in Central. You took a moment to stare into the sky.

“Why should I?” you finally asked, your eyes turning to him.

“I’m not God. And I’m not the State, if that’s something else that you despise, as well.” He turned to face you and put his hands on your shoulders, pulling you close. “I’m just somebody who needs to change this… so that it can’t happen again. It’s the only way I can justify taking my next breaths. I’m going to be Führer, or I’ll die trying.”

_“I don’t fancy the phrase ‘last thing I’ll do’. Implies that death is the end part of that equation.”_

And now he had said it outright. That death was inevitable and that death would be waiting for him. He really had changed. Well, all of you had.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. It was less of an embrace than an act of need, because desperation had taken you both into its claws. Perhaps it was a way for you to seal your vow. It stayed like that for a while before you drew away. There were tears on your face and you couldn’t be sure if they were his or yours.

“I give you my word.”

At the time, you had believed it, too.


	2. [ii] - Loneliness in Company

“Should I put this here, Trisha?”

“Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you.”

You smiled at the woman, clapping your hands free of flour. She stood beside you to help dust off the table, and you took the opportunity to wipe your brow with your forearm.

“I hope the boys will like the pie.”

“Oh, of course they will. They love anything you make. I bet Winry and the other kids will be jealous.”

“You flatter me… besides, that’s not true. Ed threw a tantrum when I tried to get him to drink a single cup of milk.”

She laughed, the sound clear like bells. “Yes, well, that’s something I fear he’ll never get over.”

You couldn’t help but stare at her side profile as you remembered just how you’d gotten here in the first place.

\---

“Ma’am, may I see your boarding pass?”

You blinked groggily, peering up at the man standing over you. The train rocked gently and you yawned. Where had you fallen asleep? You couldn’t even remember which direction the train had been heading.

“Ma’am, I need to see some form of ID, as well as your boarding pass.”

“I don’t have them,” you said quietly. Your pocket watch had been left behind on _his_ desk, and you’d only taken this particular train on a whim, jumping onto it when the guard hadn’t been looking.

The policeman turned an awe-inspiring shade of purple, and you suddenly worried for his health.

“That’s illegal, you free-loading trash! You’ll be arrested at the next stop!”

“That’s fine by me,” you said gently, turning to look out the window. Green hills flew past into a blur of an unfamiliar landscape. You then looked back at the policeman, who was bewildered with your nonchalant attitude. “What is the next stop, if I might ask?”

“R-Resembool…?” He was so confused that he completely forgot his anger, staring at you. You smiled.

“Okay. Sounds good.”

\---

The policeman had agreed not to press charges if you got off the train at Resembool. The fistful of Amestrian notes you handed him probably helped. They didn’t mean much to you, anyways. It was the last of your state-issued allowance. The more you were free of it, the better off you were. That money was worth to you no more than what it could buy. For you, it was freedom.

Unfortunately for you, the weather had soured quickly. Rain pelted you like small blades and you sighed, wandering the muddy roads. There had to be an inn somewhere, surely… but the village inhabited, much less like the bustling metropolitan Central was. You had lived in the cities your whole life; you had never gotten used to the idea of a rural lifestyle.

Abruptly, as if to remind you of how foreign you were to the land, you were sucked into a particularly soft spot and nearly lost your shoe. Scowling, you wrenched your foot free with a mighty pull, nearly kicking a small child in the process. He cried out and stumbled backwards, glaring at you with large golden eyes.

“Sorry!” you yelped, looking up as the downpour suddenly stopped. It was because of a mint coloured umbrella, held over you by a woman, who looked nearly as surprised as you.

“My,” she gasped, “we can’t have you out in the rain like this. Come with me.”

\---

“The bombing sure roughed us up. But we got back onto our feet okay.” Pinako exhaled a large cloud of blue smoke before continuing, polishing her spectacles with a cloth. “I don’t think we’ll ever grow into some Southeastern gem, but we’ll do okay. That’s where you are right now. Proud old Resembool.”

“I see. That’s fascinating.” You sipped at your tea, thankful for the warmth it gave to your numb fingers. The old woman suddenly looked at you pointedly.

“Just who are you, anyways?”

“Me? Oh… I’m nobody.” You omitted the fact that you were a deserter and was probably being sentenced to death in Central by the top brass. Instead, you offered a shy smile. “Just somebody looking to start anew.”

“Hmph. Well, my bones tell me military. Don’t lie to me, girl, I’m more keen than I let on!”

Your eyes widened, which probably gave it away if it hadn’t been obvious enough before. Trisha looked at you strangely, bouncing the golden haired child on her lap. The other one, a younger brother you presumed, napped in the corner with a puppy at his feet. He sucked on his thumb and a shiny trail of drool ran down his chin. Your eyes were drawn to them and you forgot to answer before Pinako slapped your hand with the cloth. 

“Ouch! I… Okay. I’m ex, let’s just say that.”

Pinako glared at you.

“You wouldn’t happen to be an ex-state alchemist, would you?”

Again, you gaped. “How’d you…”

“That bracelet, girl! What else could it be? Really, the State’s just hired a bunch of idiots now, haven’t they.”

“Pinako, let’s not be rude to her…”

You looked down, forgetting that you even had it on. The women’s mild bickering faded into the background as you stared at the markings. The engravings looked alien to you, despite the fact that you’d had it for the entirety of your life.

“You’re right again,” you sighed, looking down into your tea. The dark leaves swirled lazily. 

“An alchemist… huh. You’re just like him.”

“Who?” you asked, raising your gaze tentatively. But she was smiling down at her dozing child, too occupied to reply. Pinako tapped her pipe on the table.

“Her husband,” she said curtly. “He’s gone, now.”

“I see.” You didn’t feel the need to inquire further, seeing a pained expression come across Trisha Elric’s face.

“All right, here’s the deal. We ignore whatever you felt the need to escape from in exchange for hard work. You got me? ‘s been a long while since we had any alchemy ‘round these parts. Some things could sure use fixin’.”

“Y-yes, ma’am!” you said, surprised by her sudden outburst of generosity. Trisha smiled at you.

“If it’s not too much of a bother, you could stay with me and the kids. The spare bedroom’s fairly cluttered but you look like you would fit. I could sure use the help… and having a bona-fide alchemist would really take a burden off of a lot of folks.”

“Of course not… thank you!” you almost saluted but thought better of it, instead, allowing the tears to well in your eyes. You bowed your head in gratitude. “Really… 

Thank you.”

\---

“What is it, Reyna?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking.” You looked away sheepishly, wiping down the table. In truth, you saw Trisha as a mother, despite being fairly close to her in age. You hadn’t really had a mother and Trisha was just so _warm_. Your parents had been illegal Xingese immigrants that had been caught by the authorities and jailed. A professor studying alchemy had taken you in as his apprentice since the day you had developed memories, but he hadn’t been known for love. Your scars itched.

“Hmm. Van used to space out a lot. I’d always have to call him back to reality. Call him… back home…” She suddenly looked sad, and you were unsure of how to comfort her. It wasn’t as easy to fix a broken heart than it was to mend a broken tap. Alchemy… a science that took humans to the world of gods, but a science that could not heal matters as ordinary as day.

Three sharp knocks at the door shook you out of your thoughts. 

“I’ll get it,” you told her hastily, dropping the towel. You jogged around the bend and opened the door, annoyed by the intruder’s constant tapping.

“What is—”

“Hey, Major! Oh sorry… I forgot. You’re a deserter, so you’ve lost that rank.”

You stared at him as he pushed past you into the house, shaking the evening rain off of his cap. Your eyes trailed down to the golden stars and stripes on his shoulder.

“…Lieutenant Colonel. You’re moving up, Mustang.”

“Have to be, to get to Führer. Or have you forgotten?”

You chewed on your lip. Behind you, you heard Trisha’s footsteps. Before you could tell her to leave, you saw Ed clinging onto her leg, with Al in her arms. They stared at you with wide eyes. She looked surprised to see a stranger in her house, but you weren’t going to blame her. Guiltily, you looked away.

“They boys got woken up by the thunder,” she said in an attempt to lighten the tension, her eyes trailing from Mustang to you. It didn’t work, and you balled your hands into fists. “Is… something wrong?”

“Nothing, ma’am. By order of the State, I’ve come to take the Drawing Life Alchemist back to Central.”

You winced at the sound of his cold and haughty voice. You had remembered it to be so much softer when he had said ‘I love you’.

“Back to Central…? _Drawing Life Alchemist_? Reyna, what’s going on?” she asked, bewildered.

“Reyna?” Mustang looked at you incredulously before you could say anything and laughed. “Reyna _Blackwood_? _That’s_ the alias you take? The girl from that romance trash you used to read?”

“Shut up,” you growled, heat rising to your cheeks. “Why did you come here, Mustang? Why would you do this to me?”

“An alias?” Trisha interrupted, her voice meek. You looked at her and then down to Ed, who was dangerously close to crying. You saw it in the tightness of his jaw. Poor little Ed, who had always tried to be strong…

“Yes. Her real name is—”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” you said sharply, giving him a look. “I’m not going back.”

His lips curled into a frown. “Yes, you will.” 

“No. I’ve made my choice. I belong here now. You can’t make me go back.”

He raised a thin eyebrow before bowing abruptly to Trisha.

“Excuse us, ma’am, but I’ll need to speak with the Missus outside.” 

Before you could protest, he dragged you with him, slamming the front door shut behind you. Thunder rolled across the sky with a flash of lightning and you could hear Edward crying inside, wailing his lungs out. You shifted nervously, shivering in the cold.

“You gave me your word,” he said quietly, drawing close to you so that his breath fluttered the thin hairs splayed across your cheeks. You shuddered again. His words felt hot against your cool skin. “You gave me your word in Ishval… that you would support me in my mission.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you replied shakily, cringing at how weak your voice sounded. You swallowed to give yourself more resolve. “ _That_ girl left a long time ago. I’m sorry, Mustang, but I can’t… I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be a dog that barks and wags its tail on command for some disembodied state.”

He suddenly grabbed your wrist. You clenched your hand into a fist instinctively, but his grip loosened, and he hooked a finger under your bracelet instead. You sucked in a breath.

“If you’re so intent on leaving it all behind, then why do you still have this?”

You clenched your jaw and pulled your hand back, holding the bracelet to your chest. It was the only thing your professor had given you besides meals and a roof, and was the sole remnant of his otherwise destroyed research. “It’s not as if I could destroy it… it’s a priceless artifact, and—”

He ignored you and took a step back, looking out over the hills. When he spoke to you, his voice was remorseless. 

“I don’t care if you’re having the time of your life here, playing housewife.” His eyes darted down to the apron you wore, and you felt self-conscious, despite the fact that he’d seen you for all you were already. Something about his gaze made you feel as if he could see into your broken, pitiful soul. He continued on as if reading off of a letter, which he probably had tucked away in his pocket anyways. “You’re coming back to Central, with me, and you’re being reinstated as a state alchemist.”

“But _why_?” you persisted, stepping towards him, “why aren’t you here to kill me, instead? I’m a deserter, after all. I should’ve been sentenced to death!”

“Maybe,” he said grimly, his voice showing emotion for the first time. It was gone before you could tell it had come. “But Bradley specifically said that he doesn’t want to lose you. You’re the only one alive with the ability to transmute energy the way you do.”

“Way I _did_ ,” you said stubbornly. You crossed your arms and shook your head. “You’ll have to kill me and bring my dead body to get me back to Central.”

“Then what about those kids in there?”

You blanched.

“I’m sure things would go very badly if the State had to seize the home and family funds… yes, the children would surely grow up in a state of poverty if that had to happen. Shame on you for bringing that down on two innocent boys and a single mother.”

“You bastard…! You wouldn’t dare!” 

“Now now. It wouldn’t be me. It’d be an urgent order from the state.” He held his hands up in surrender as you pinned him against the wall by his collar. Your hands shook and you hated the smile creeping across his face as he realized his victory.

“Why… why are you doing this to me, Roy?”

Your knees weakened and you fell against him, your forehead pressing into his shoulder. The next lightning strike must have been close because the following thunder was deafening. Heavy droplets of rain drowned out all other noise besides his heartbeat. His arms supported you but he suddenly lifted you, staring into your eyes.

“ _You_ made me do it. If you hadn’t run, we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

You grit your teeth and pushed yourself away from him, hating yourself for being so naive to think he’d be anything but ruthless. The days where you could call him your love where long gone and now, you were merely a whining pup, being scolded for running away with its tail in between its legs.

“Fine. Just don’t… don’t hurt them. They’ve gone through enough. Swear to me that you’ll never try to look into them again. Swear to me that you’ll leave them alone.”

You could still hear Edward’s screaming and wished you could go back inside to pull on his earlobe, because that had always quieted the toddler. Another child’s yells joined the fray and you knew Al had woken. Poor Trisha. But you couldn’t step foot inside the house. It wasn’t your home any longer. Your hot tears melted into the cold raindrops as Mustang nodded slowly in agreement. It was settled.

“I hate you,” you declared suddenly, staring up at him through your angry tears. Your fists shook and the bracelet on your wrist began to vibrate, as if eagerly sensing its revival to come. His lips were pressed into a thin line and a burning expression on his face reflected yours. I hate you I hate you I hate you—

“As do I.”

You bowed your head in defeat, gritting your teeth. He gave you a hesitant brush on the shoulder before securing your hands behind your back. The gesture only made it harder for you to stay true to your words, and he held you close to him as you cried in the rain. Despite the fact that you could hear his steady heartbeat, you had never felt lonelier.


	3. [iii] - I'm Sorry

“Surprise!”

You jumped instinctively and wrapped a hand around your bracelet, but Roy gripped you tightly by the shoulder and hissed into your ear.

“Smile, and don’t _kill_ anybody.”

It then registered to you that the room was filled with past friends and colleagues. Even people you didn’t know were standing around you. Smiles that you couldn’t quite gauge the realness of were plastered across their faces.

“I wasn’t expecting this many people,” you said to Hughes through ground teeth after finding him in the crowd. You had been completely exhausted by merely standing and talking. Confronting the faces of all the people you had sworn to forget had taken its toll on you. And their questions… you had managed to evade them by making an excuse of visiting old family up North, but their words weighed heavily. Hughes grinned down at you despite your sour mood, his golden eyes holding a mischievous glint.

“My wife and I thought it best. The more the merrier, right?”

“Wife?” you asked, raising your eyebrows. “You married her?”

You could hardly remember the Hughes you’d met in Ishval. He was Mustang’s friend and a Captain close to your command, but in the time that you had knew him, he had never once given up the opportunity to boast about his life back home. You could still remember the pricks of envy you had felt as he had talked and talked. You were starting to feel them again.

“Yep. There she is, over by the lady in the blue.”

You smiled gently when you saw her glowing face. That was just something love _did_ , and it was something that couldn’t be faked—no matter how expensive the make-up, or how skilled the con artist. 

“I’m surprised she said yes to you. Are you sure you didn’t pay her just for show?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” He paused for a moment, wiping his glasses with his shirt. His voice was low and conspiratorial when he spoke again, his usual mirth missing. 

“The world’s moved on without you. I don’t know where you went or what you did, so hell, you might’ve moved on too. But _he_ didn’t. I still don’t think he has.”

“We’re not back together, Maes,” you said quietly. “Not now or ever. I just… no. I can’t do that to him.”

“No?” He placed the thin frames back onto his nose and scratched his head, brushing back the hair. “I think you at least oughta—”

“Maes, dear, can you—oh, hello! So _you’re_ the star of the party! The soldier they just got back, right?”

His wife appeared by his side when you were distracted by your drink. You looked up and gave a weary smile.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier. You just don’t look like a solider.”

Hughes scoffed, giving you a judgmental look. “She doesn’t?”

“No!” his wife exclaimed. “She looks like a homely person. And very familiar, too…”

“We probably saw each other around at military banquets. Hughes was very keen on introducing you to everybody that would listen.”

“Honey!” she chided, her face growing a warm pink. Her husband laughed merrily and you felt sick as they embraced. The smile on your face was extremely strained. _Homely_. You immediately blocked out the memories of Resembool, tightening your hold around the crystal glass.

“That’s a nice ring!” you blurted out, after looking down at her left hand. Hughes gripped her hand and raised it, showing it off to you excitedly as his wife blushed further. 

“Isn’t it? Better than anything you alchemists could make, huh? Though I wouldn’t mind if you made the stone a bit bigger!” They laughed. The uneasy feeling in your stomach grew heavier. Your smile shrank but you coughed out a few chuckles as not to make them feel awkward. You didn’t have the heart to tell them that making the diamond bigger would defy the law that was Equivalent Exchange, either.

“I’ll be over there,” you said hurriedly, “excuse me.” 

You sped off before they could ask any more questions. Finding a mostly secluded corner, you sighed with relief and drank. A shadow passed over you and suddenly, your glass was gone, snatched out of your hold.

“Clear alcohol?” Roy asked, peering inside and wrinkling his nose once he smelled it. “You’ve sure gotten shiftier.”

“It looked like water, so I was hoping you’d get off my back for once.” You reached for it but he pulled it out of range, setting it aside on a table. He sat down beside you and crossed his arms.

“You’re awfully quiet at your own party,” he said, in an attempt to strike up conversation. You merely scowled and turned away.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you muttered spitefully, staring down at the tablecloth. It reminded you of Pinako’s. “My return isn’t something to be celebrated.”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I ran away. I broke our promise. Aren’t you mad at me for it?”

“For which one?” A dry smile spread across his face, but you knew him well enough by now to know a feint when you saw one.

“Why, Roy?” you demanded. “Why’ve you been acting like everything’s all right?”

“Of course I’m angry. But I’m also just glad that you’re back.”

The sudden outright confession made your heart leap. Before you had time to react, he reached out to touch your cheek. His fingers trailed to your jawline and then to your exposed collarbone, sending a cold sweat rocketing over your entire being. You stared at him before he suddenly took his hand away as if nothing had happened.

“You’re staying at my house.”

“What?” you asked, still too shaken by his gentle touches to concentrate. You shook yourself out of the early haze of drunkenness, blaming the alcohol for your reddened face. “Why?”

“Central dorms are filthy. I doubt you’d want to stay here at Hughes’, what with him still being in his honeymoon phase. And it’d be annoying for you to go to Hawkeye’s, since all your stuff is still at my place. It’d be too tedious to move it.”

“You… you kept it?” 

“Hm. I had a feeling you’d be back someday.”

He reached up and downed the rest of your drink, without even the bat of an eyelash at the strong alcohol. You couldn’t help a small smile and looked away.

“Okay.”

\---

You picked up an old violin and blew dust from it, running your fingers over the brittle strings. 

“I can’t believe you actually kept _everything_ ,” you said in wonder, looking around before going to the closet. Your clothes had been packed into little boxes that rested at your feet, but from what you could see, he’d thrown nothing out. He leant in the doorway.

“It’d be a waste. I’m barely home anyways. Work keeps me in the office.”

You were busy digging through articles of your clothing. When you’d gotten to Resembool with nothing but change in your pocket, you had been forced to wear hand-me-downs from the town’s church, so it would feel great to wear something that actually fit and—God forbid—matched. Your hand then brushed past your military uniform. You recoiled as if burnt. Roy sat down heavily on the bed, looking down into the box beside you.

“What’s wrong?’

“It’s nothing,” you said hastily, throwing an old sweater over the distinctive navy jacket. Your badges gleamed at you evilly until you covered them, too. You then looked up at him and frowned. 

“Is it really okay for me to stay here?”

“I’ve told you already. It’ll be fine. We’re both adults.” He turned his neck to the side with a grimace and you already knew what was wrong.

“I told you to stretch your neck out every two hours. You’re always bent over your paperwork. It’s a surprise you don’t have a permanent hunchback.”

“Ah,” he said, his eyes lost in memory. “You did used to tell me that.”

The ‘used to’ made your heart constrict painfully. You got up from your knees, wiping dust onto your pants.

“Here. Let me.”

You swung yourself behind him and dug your fingers into his stiffened shoulder before he could say anything. You just needed an excuse to get behind him, so that he wouldn’t have to see your pathetic face with tears rolling down it. Your plan failed miserably when he turned around to look at you. He reached up and put a hand on yours, holding you close. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” you whispered shakily.

“I am too,” he murmured, and it wasn’t just directed to you.

\---

“How are you?”

You sighed, hardly daring to turn, as the pain in your lower back was too great.

“Awful. You know, I should have told him to buy a bigger bed when I moved in. How much of an idiot was I to think that two adults could share a bed meant for one?”

“You moved into a single man’s apartment back then. What did you expect from him?”

“For starters, I expected him to own more than a ratty old couch. He spends all of his money on clothes.”

Riza cracked a rare smile. “I can’t argue with you there.”

Riza had been the only one to receive a letter when you’d left. She’s been your best friend and your confidant. The note had been nothing but a vague goodbye and apology, but you could tell that she would hold it against you someday. The hard glint in her maple eyes told you enough.

“I hear you’re to see the Führer,” she said, before looking down at your shoulder. She chuckled. “Looks like you still outrank me, even after being MIA for a year. Should I salute you, sir?”

You laughed sardonically. “I didn’t earn this. State alchemists just get the role of major without trying. _You_ deserve it more.”

“Of course I don’t,” she said humbly, but you shook your head, slowing to a stop. She stood in front of you, her gaze inquisitive. But you found that you couldn’t look her in the eye.

“Sorry,” you muttered to the floor. 

“I also hear that you’ve been saying that a lot. Major.”

You smiled wryly. “What else can I say?”

She reached out and patted you on the shoulder, right on the single star. Her grip was strong. “Maybe something like a simple ‘hello’ would do just fine. Look, I don’t blame you for deserting.” Her gaze softened. “In fact, I think I was jealous that you actually had the guts to do it.”

You shook your head again. “No. Somebody needs to stay here to watch over Mustang… and I’m glad it was you. You’re much stronger than I am.”

She smiled again, her expression warm. “You’re not as bad a person as you’re making yourself out to be. We all forgive you.”

Her words suddenly made you painfully aware of the stripe on your breast. A token for your participation in Ishval. A tiny strip of colour to show the world that you were a mass murderer, and an _honoured_ one, at that. Despicable.

“You okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just thinking.”

“You should get to the Führer’s office soon. I’ll catch up with you later, if I ever find the time.” She rolled her eyes before you leant forwards and hugged her. You felt her stiffen under your touch.

“Thanks, Riza.”

A hand patted you on the back, and she said nothing, because she already understood. You bade her farewell and left, knowing with a guilty feeling that she had smelt the alcohol on your apology.

\---

“What did he say to you?”

He asked you the question as soon as you walked in. You weren’t even able to blink.

“Nothing, really.”

“Come on,” he said impatiently, resting his head on steepled fingers. “He had to have said something significant.”

“What’s it to you, Mustang?” you asked hotly. “I have to get back to my office soon. I’m only here because you forced me to give you a copy of this.” You waved your official reinstatement form before slamming it on his desk, turning to leave.

“ _Your_ office?”

“Yes. Just because _you_ brought me back for your own selfish needs doesn’t mean you get to keep me on a leash like you do with Riza, or the others.” The angry words tumbled out of your mouth. Immediately, you regretted it when you saw a flash of discomfort tighten his features. But you couldn’t even apologize before he spoke again.

“I need to know because you’re one of _mine_ , on paper or not. In order to get to the top, I’ll need good connections. _You’re_ one of them. I might not get to keep you on a leash, but the State does a good enough job of that.” He pressed you against the wall, having gotten up during his speech, and leant forwards dangerously. You felt his breath on your ear. “So. What did the Führer say to you?”

A knot growing in your stomach, you clenched your hand in a fist and looked away, unable to bear looking the man in the face.

“…he told me he was overjoyed to have me back. Since I’m the only one alive who can use my master’s teachings of energy alchemy.”

“Overjoyed?” he pressed, seemingly unaware of how close he was to you, or how uncomfortable you were. “Anything else?”

Memories of the old man’s pleasant face brought back another phrase, one that had made you feel as if you had been punched in the gut.

“He said that I was invaluable to him,” you said flatly. “And that I’m destined to work for the State until I die. He said it in a cheerful tone. Said it was a blessing from God.”

“I see.” He finally backed up from you and you breathed, gulping in air.

“He didn’t say anything about you, Mustang. Sorry.”

“No, this is good. If you’re really so important to him, then I’ve got leverage… I can use you.” he began muttering, and you didn’t even know if he knew that he had just revealed his cruel manipulative plans aloud. His words stung and you shivered, feeling extremely cold.

“Roy, if you’re just going to sleep with me for a ‘connection’, then you might as well just say so now.”

He finally looked back up at you from his desk, and his expression was completely blank. 

“Who said I slept with you last night for that?”

Your fists shook and you turned away after a disgusted salute. 

“ _Sir_.”


	4. [iv] - Things Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: 'Reyna Blackwood' was the name of the OC in the original of this fic. Since most of Mustang's men have family names that correspond to military vehicles, I chose 'Vena' for the Reader's surname, as the professor that raised her was from Drachma, the FMA counterpart of Russia.  
> Hope you like this chapter as much as I liked writing it~

“Roy?”

He glanced over slightly before returning his dark eyes to the road. You studied his face—deep wrinkles lined his young face, and his eyes held an exhaustion known only to the damned. 

“What is it?”

You sighed, unsure of how to word your question. Your gaze wandered out the window. The day had not yet dawned, and as he drove, the frantic city roads were asleep. When you finally steeled your resolve, you took a deep breath to steady yourself.

“I’ve… I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while.”

“Mm.”

He drove lazily, a hand resting on the wheel as the other propped his head up. The luxurious car sped along smoothly, the engine’s familiar growls and splutterings fading into the background. You had never worried about driving with him; he had always kept you safe. You watched his side profile sadly.

“Why is there a bullet hole in the ceiling?”

You watched him tense, his jaw tightening, and your stomach sunk. It was enough of an answer. The car gave a slight jerk to the left as he looked over at you sharply, his eyes wild with fear—but then his gaze softened and he returned his attention to the road, like nothing had ever happened.

“Do you really need me to tell you?” he replied flatly. You winced at the monotony of his voice.

“Roy…” you started, but he cut you off with a loud sigh. He pulled over to a stop on the side of the road and parked, the engine idling quietly. He stared straight ahead as he spoke. 

“You want to know the truth? Here it is. I tried to. I really did. But I was too much of a coward, and I couldn’t do it. It was in my mouth… my finger was on the trigger… but I couldn’t do it. So I shot the ceiling. It was my pathetic way of shooting God.”

Your heart wrenched itself into knots and you swallowed thickly, despair quickly filling the empty feeling in your gut.

“Did you do it… when I left?”

He scoffed. “Again, do you really need me to answer that question?”

You looked back to the sky, pitch black, as if the light would never come. You racked your brain for the reason why, and a sudden memory of his tear streaked face jolted into your vision like a flash of light in the dark.

_“Why did I have to kill them?! They didn’t do anything wrong… they were just helping people… What kind of monster am I?”_

_“You were following orders, Roy…”_

_“Why did I kill them, then? Goddamit, Vena, why!? Tell me why!”_

_You were taken aback by the use of your surname without your rank and you swallowed thickly, pulling him close to your chest. His tears wet the front of your shirt and when he cried, you felt as if every shudder might be his last. You couldn’t say anything at all. His misery was too much._

_“It’s already been done,” you whispered, closing your eyes to stop the overflow of your own tears._

“Are you ready for tonight?”

The sudden change of topic surprised you and your brow furrowed. He was already pulling back onto the road. He hadn’t changed a bit, then—he had never been one to dwell on emotions.

“I… I suppose,” you finally answered, deciding it would be best to let it go. You knew him well enough to know that his constant skirting of confrontation was just another one of his few weaknesses. You looked out the window and watched houses fly by. “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

“Bradley’s going to be there,” he reminded, his tone nonchalant. You were still visioning him with a pistol clenched between his teeth and had to shake the memory from your mind. He cruised into the military’s parking lot and was already halfway out the door when you spoke.

“I know.”

“And you know the plan?” He peered back into the car.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said, slamming the door shut. 

And that was that.

\---

You tugged uncomfortably at the hem of your black dress, wishing very much that you were anywhere but where you were. Riza was at your side, looking equally annoyed. 

“I still think we should’ve been allowed to wear our uniforms,” she said disgruntledly. Her red dress was form fitting and she looked extremely attractive, but her frightening scowl was fending off any interested men from approaching. She ran a hand through her short hair, disrupting the clean style, and scowled. “How am I supposed to run in these damn heels?”

“You’re not _supposed_ to run,” you reminded her, “it’s a military ball. You’re supposed to dance, drink, and be merry.”

“I think I _am_ supposed to run. Run the hell out of here.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly. You shared her attitude wholeheartedly, but you were bound by your promise to stay. Your eyes bounced from face to face, trying to find him. The men all looked the same with their navy blue military suits. You tried not to look disgusted as you saw them display their badges and medals blatantly—symbols of triumph; marks of murderers. Hughes was there, dancing with his wife. You immediately steered clear of them. It wouldn’t do for you to get resentful of their happiness.

It took a while before you finally bumped into him. He had grabbed you by the waist and spun you onto the ballroom floor before you even had a chance to see his face. His strong hands were familiar on your back, and he gripped your hand tightly.

“I hope you haven’t been drinking too much,” he warned through his teeth, turning you by the hand gracefully. You had never been one for dancing, but his lead was strong, and you let him push and pull you as he liked. The violins were spirited and the waltz was quick, but you were able to keep up for the sole reason that you’d done this too many times before. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, despite not being apologetic in the slightest. Truthfully, you’d had enough wine to knock even Armstrong out cold, but your body had become so tolerant that you still felt very much the same pathetic self.

He was silent, his gaze staring past you. You knew that he was looking for Führer Bradley.

“If you keep twisting your head around like that, you’ll look like a neglectful date.”

He snorted gently. “Says the girl who’s been staring off into space and downing enough alcohol to kill a cow.”

You looked up to find him already looking down at you. His eyes were sharp and he looked extremely handsome, dressed up as he was. Roy had always been a man of fine appearance, but he had always looked especially elegant in his formal uniform. Your gaze turned back to the floor. 

“Don’t look at your feet,” he said austerely, taking the hand off your back to tilt your chin up. The gloves felt silky against your skin and your eyes momentarily widened as you met his gaze. His expression softened as his hand fell back against you, holding you close. “Straight back. Raised head.”

“Since when did you become a dance instructor?” you asked sarcastically, but you did as you were told. He led you closer to the centre, whirling you around masterfully. Soon enough, you were forgetting your surroundings, engrossed in a world where it was just you and he. Together. Alone. Where worries and sin did not exist and it was just you and he, dancing together, scraping your shoes on the stars and hanging upside down from the moon. You were almost happy.

Almost.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve been together like this,” he mentioned after a short while. You blinked, startled by the sudden statement. You nearly stumbled but he caught you swiftly, bending you down into a smooth and steep dip. His face was close to yours and you sucked in air deeply, holding your breath until he returned you to your feet.

“I guess you’re right,” you said hesitantly, unsure of what kind of reaction he wanted from you. Your heart was still pounding, the feeling of his hair brushing against your skin lingering like a ghost. “But last time, we were…”

Your voice trailed off as you lost yourself in memory. Interdepartmental dating had been strictly outlawed, of course, but a younger you and a younger him hadn’t cared. After Ishval, nothing had mattered. Perhaps it was desperation. Maybe it had even been true love. All you knew was that he was the only reason you had stayed as long as you did. He was also the reason you had run.

“I guess you’re right,” he repeated, a thin smile on his lips. “The last ball was right before you left.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “It was, wasn’t it?”

He spun you again before pulling you close. He leant down and whispered as he pressed his body against you in an all too familiar way.

“Listen. Do you know why I couldn’t do it?”

The sudden introduction of the topic he had been so keen to avoid confused you, but you shook your head slowly, focusing on the sound of his heartbeat.

“I thought you said you were too afraid,” you murmured.

“Yes, that was one of the reasons. The other…was because of you.”

“Me?” you breathed. You felt his hand tighten around yours as if making sure you wouldn’t disappear. As if making sure you were real. 

“I was going to do it. But then, I thought… if I kill myself now, I’ll never get to see _her_ again. And the thought made me freeze up. I couldn’t do it.”

“But how did you know I was still alive?”

“You left your watch on my desk,” he said simply. The memory of the day was still fresh in your mind and you could still remember the tight feeling of your grim expression as you had left his empty office. “If you’d wanted to die, you wouldn’t have left me anything at all. You’re that type of person. Selfish. So selfish that you’d leave all the people around you without saying anything, just so you wouldn’t have to deal with hurting them.”

“I…” you couldn’t think of anything to say and struggled to blink back the stinging feeling in your eyes. You looked away guiltily. He wasn’t wrong, after all. “Why are you telling me this now? What’s the point?”

“I love you.”

You stared deep into his eyes, searching desperately. You were looking for either truth or lies, but you couldn’t find anything at all. You only saw him, looking back at you, with an air of regret surrounding his entire being. Quietly, he spoke in your ear with a tone of sorrow as he bent you low,

“At least, I used to.”

You opened your mouth to speak but was immediately interrupted by the roar of applause. Roy pulled you back onto your feet and bowed slightly. You turned and bowed too, seizing up when you saw Führer Bradley standing there. His applause was slow and dramatic, and you forced your face to remain neutral so that it wouldn’t contort into a nauseated grimace.

“My, as if it wasn’t good enough to get the Drawing Life Alchemist back, but I was gifted with such a fantastic show of dance as well! Amestris is truly blessed to have you two.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said politely, despite your heavy heart. You looked up at Roy, and he nodded, stepping forwards. You’d done your job. You watched as the two men talked together jovially, and when Roy turned back to look, you were already gone.

\---

“I’m surprised you’re still here.”

You turned around to see him step next to you, leaning forwards on the balcony. He stared out at the city with you, the buildings gleaming like diamonds littered across veins of glowing streets. 

“I can’t very well leave when my ride is here. Want me to walk all the way home?” you said dryly, letting your head rest on your crossed arms. You shivered in the cold night air, your skin riddled with goosebumps. Immediately, you felt the heaviness of his jacket enfold you in warmth. Your lips pressed together into a tight line but you made no move to look up or thank him.

“About what you said earlier—” you started, but he quickly spoke over you.

“Forget it. It’s not worth pursuing.” His voice was cold but you shook your head, reaching over and laying a hand on his arm.

“I know. I just wanted to say that… I loved you, too. That time…” you sighed heavily, pulling your hand away. “I couldn’t ever forget it. And I could never regret it, no matter how hard I tried.”

He finally turned to meet your gaze. It was difficult to see him in the dark, and you couldn’t tell if he was smiling or frowning.

“…things change.”

You closed your eyes, leaning forwards onto the balcony. You held his jacket close to you, the familiar smell reminding you of home. You didn’t know where home was, anymore. Central? Resembool?

But you knew one thing— _he_ was home.

\---

_You laid the pocket watch on top of one of his papers to ensure that he saw. He’d know whom it was from. You trusted him enough to know._

_Now, all you had to do was leave. Leave without looking back. For the weeks leading up to this moment, it had seemed so easy. But now you stood in front of his desk, your fingers quivering, and you found yourself to be stuck._

_“I love you,” you whispered to the silence. “I love you so, so much…”_

\---

“Some things don’t,” you said wistfully, opening your eyes as the memory faded. You turned to go but felt his arms wrap around you, encircling you in warmth. 

The kiss was gentle and quick, but it hadn’t felt like a kiss. It was like a desperate attempt to cling onto happy memories, and when you parted, you wiped a tear from his cheek with your thumb.

“Some things have to change,” he said quietly. Pleadingly.

“But some things won’t.”

And when you left, you were alone once more, with only his jacket slung over your shoulders.


	5. [v] - Betrayal

He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side quizzically.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Moving rook to e7.”

He pursed his lips. “I can _see_ that. I’m asking _why_.”

You sighed tiredly, rubbing your eyes. They burned wearily. You hadn’t slept in at least 24 hours, and Roy had demanded a chess game from you before you were allowed to leave. His office was cramped, as most were in the sprawling headquarters of Central, but it was quiet. That was something you appreciated. 

“You’re not a moron, are you? I’m calling a stalemate.” You placed your weighted piece down with a satisfying _clack_ and leant back, trying to rub the fatigue from your eyes again.

“There’re other legal moves.” 

“Yes. But I choose to draw.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair before shaking his head, leaning back with a smile. “You’re really something, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know, am I?”

“You chose not to checkmate me. Are you trying to spare my feelings?”

You smiled gently, knowing you were found out. “Something like that.”

You set to work on clearing the board, but stopped when you felt him watching you. 

“Aren’t you going to help?” 

“…I actually have some news to tell.”

Your eyebrows knitted together. He didn’t normally look so serious, but his eyes were distant and hazy. His face was stuck in a grimace, as if he were in actual pain. 

“I’ve got to go...” he hesitated shortly before clearing his throat, “East. For scouting purposes.”

A breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding puffed out in relief. 

“That’s it?” you asked, resuming the reset of the board. “I thought you were going to tell me something worse.”

Scouting Duty was something the Führer had recently put into place. It was decreed that all state alchemists were to follow orders and hunt down trails of supposedly ‘helpful’ alchemists. You had just returned from your journey west. It hadn’t been fruitful—none of these expeditions were. But the Führer’s word was absolute, so hunting dog you were.

“Well, it’s just that I’m going to be gone for your birthday.”

You couldn’t help but laugh slightly, feeling your cheeks grow warm, embarrassingly so. Was that why he was so bothered?

“That’s what you’re worried about? It’s fine, Mustang, really.”

After the military banquet, you had worried about what things would be like between the two of you. But your fortune had somehow turned for the better and you could safely say that things were… well, they weren’t better, but you were healing. He was, too.

When you looked up again, you frowned. His expression hadn’t changed, and he was staring down at the table with a hard glint in his angular eyes.

“Roy?” you questioned, “are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said after a while. He rubbed fists into his eyes, sighing deeply. “Just tired. Some of the paperwork’s been catching up to me.”

“That’s because you don’t _do_ it.”

“It’s not my fault that I don’t want to do it.”

“Yes, it is! What kind of an argument is that?”

The banter was just so _innocent_ that you lost yourself, allowing you to once again believe that everything was fine. That you weren’t sitting in a military base that ordered off the lives of civilians—no, you were merely being with the man you loved.

Loved.

You weren’t one to admit your feelings, but you were sure that at the very least, he knew. Whether or not he loved you back, well—

“Fine, then what about this?”

He surprised you by lifting you with ease, his hands pressed against your thighs as he swept you off of your feet and against his desk. The air was knocked out of you and your heart pounded in your ears, making you paranoid of footsteps. His teeth on your neck made you shudder and you reluctantly pushed him away after a moment of weakness.

“What is this?” you asked breathlessly, your eyes darting to the door behind him. He smirked.

“My birthday present. From me to you. Unless you’d like to make a return…?”

“What if we get caught?” you urged in a whisper, unable to stop him from teasing your sensitive skin again. Your legs curled around his waist as his tongue traced your exposed collarbone. “Roy!”

“All the better,” he mumbled, his nimble fingers hooking around your uniform’s collar. You gave in helplessly, a breathy moan escaping you. But you weren’t able to completely enjoy it, because a thought wouldn’t leave your mind.

He was lying to you about something.

\---

You had decided that you would give him the benefit of the doubt. But tonight, you were too restless to do anything. His face wouldn’t leave your mind and you drummed your fingers anxiously.

“Miss? If you’re to make a phone call, could you please do it now?”

“What? Oh, yes. Sorry.”

The attendant retreated back to her desk and the soldiers in line behind her gave you snarky looks. You picked up the phone receiver and inhaled deeply. You hadn’t wanted to do this. In your head, it felt like you were betraying him. It might’ve been foolish, but you were worried that this simple phone call would be a breach of the trust you had finally gained back from him. If you broke it again, you’d never get it back.

Finally, you ignored your conflicting emotions and dialed East headquarters, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Alpha delta nine-seven-oh-one,” you said after the woman on the other line asked for your identification. “Patch me through to Lieutenant Colonel Mustang.”

“Your ID is confirmed, Major, but I’m afraid Lieutenant Colonel Mustang isn’t here.”

“Oh. Could you leave a message, then—?”

“No, I mean, he’s not currently checked in at Eastern headquarters.”

Your brow furrowed and a sinking pit of dread grew in your stomach. So you had been right?

“He’s not in any of the logs?’

“No, ma’am. Sorry.”

You exhaled shakily. “Thank you,” you muttered, slamming the receiver on the phone.

At least you knew that you weren’t the one who’d betrayed the other, this time.

\---

It wasn’t difficult to break into his office. In fact, it wasn’t even locked. You strode in with confidence, nodding at one of his subordinates as you went to his desk. But you didn’t look any farther than that. A crystal tray sat in the centre, ashy remnants not yet cleared out.

He didn’t smoke.

You turned heel and marched back out of the office, not bothering to reply to the goodbye from the boy with glasses. You dried hot tears from your eyes with your sleeve stubbornly. Now, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know what the truth was.

You finally managed to hunt one of his subordinates, Havoc, down near the shooting range. He pulled wax out of his ears when he saw you gesturing impatiently at him.

“Hey, Major! Don’t tell me you’re here for my stunning good looks—” he started jokingly, but you shook your head grimly.

“Where’s Roy, Lieutenant?”

“Scouting. Didn’t you know?”

“Of course,” you snapped, making him narrow his eyes. But was he lying about scouting, too? “ _Where_ is he? Right now?”

“Southeast,” he said slowly, and you could feel the blood drain from your face as he continued, his face wrinkled in thought. “A town named Resembool, I think.”

You were reeling, but you had enough energy to ask one last thing in such a weak voice that Havoc could barely hear you.

“Is he looking for a pair of brothers?”

“I’m not too sure. Elric, or something like that. Why? What’s going on? Major? Where are you going?!”

You didn’t know where you were going yourself, but you knew that you had to get there as fast as you could. Not only had he lied, and then taken advantage of you—he’d broken the promise he had sworn to you, on a rainy night in a town named Resembool.

He’d gone back for them, and it was your fault.


	6. [vi] - Shards Left Behind

“You don’t understand. It’s an _emergency_ ,” you growled to the trembling guard. 

“I’m sorry Major! The express train to the East is fully booked, and you need a letter of recognition to board for emergencies—”

“God!” you shouted, gripping your fists and banging a boot on the floor like a child having a tantrum. Your transmutation bracelets jangled. “Let me talk to one of the passengers, and I’ll _make_ them give me their seat!”

“Major, _please_ —”

“Yes, Major Vena. Leave the poor man alone, he’s just doing his job.”

You whirled at the sound of the voice and narrowed your eyes into a fiery glare.

“Mustang.”

Riza stood beside him, looking confused as to your anger, but Roy’s angular countenance was gaunt. He turned and walked, and you followed after a moment’s hesitation.

“You broke your promise to me,” you hissed, once he had dismissed Riza. She had left reluctantly after shooting you an inquiring look, but you said nothing, and neither had he. You jabbed a finger into his chest, making him stumble backwards. “You went back to them. And now you’re telling me that you’re _recruiting_ them into this hell!? Roy, you _promised_ me.”

“Equivalent exchange, don’t you think? You broke a promise, so I break one. To obtain—”

“Something of equal value must be lost. I _know_ , but I’m asking you, _why_ —”

“They committed the ultimate taboo, you know?”

The words stunned you silent and you gaped stupidly.

“Not those boys,” you denied fervently, shaking your head as if to clear your head of the rush of memories, “they could never.”

“Their mother died, and they tried to bring her back. I think that the finality of death drives a lot of people to do something they never would have done otherwise.”

Your shaky, cold hands came up to your face and you pressed them over your mouth to hide your horrified expression. Acidic bile rose in your throat and you blurted out through your fingers, “are they _alive_?!”

“Yes. Barely. The eldest lost an arm and a leg. The other—”

 _Al,_ you thought miserably, burying the rest of your face in your hands.

“—lost his entire body.”

You looked up. “I don’t understand. If he lost his body…”

“The eldest, Edward Elric, bonded Alphonse’s soul to a suit of armour. It’s empty, but the kid can walk, talk…”

“He can’t be more than eleven,” you muttered, reeling in sight of the recollection of those tiny golden haired boys. “And you’re telling me that he managed to do that something that advanced?”

Roy gave a long, exhausted sigh. His head slumped and dark hair fell forwards to obscure his hair. He rubbed his eyes with ungloved hands. “I saw the thing they made, Vena. It was already dead, and it wasn’t even human, much less their mother.”

“Trisha,” you muttered, ignoring him, too lost in your memories of the smiling woman. “Oh, Trisha…” Your head snapped up with sudden urgency. “Where are they now?”

“They’re staying with their family friend. Pinako Rockbell. I’m sure you know her, though. Just like you knew _them_.”

You grimaced at his cold tone but nodded all the same. “I do.”

Roy gave another sigh before standing tall, glaring down at you. His gaze was stern. “You understand, do you? You can’t go see them.”

“Why not?” you argued, “they’ve lost their mother!”

“And if they know how you suddenly left them, and wasn’t there to save their mother? If they knew that you were the Drawing Life alchemist, a trained bio-alchemist, and yet you failed to save their mother?”

Your retort died in your throat.

“They would hate you, I’m sure. I’m sorry Vena, but you’ve got to let them go.”

You exhaled shakily and bowed your own head. Your voice dripped with hatred and sorrow alike.

“You’re not sorry. The least you could do is stop lying to me, Roy.”

His boots clacked against the tile as he walked and you called his name a last time.

“What is it?” he asked, pausing, refusing to turn back.

You spoke to the floor, not trusting yourself to look at his face, lest you attack him. “Did they accept? Are they going to try and enroll in the state alchemist program?”

He nodded once, the back of his head bobbing.

“I have another question,” you whispered. “Did you lie when you said you loved me, too?”

He blinked and continued on, walking away without you. The only thing he said was,

“Let it go. You’ve already left it behind.”


	7. [vii] - Hourglass Sands

When you’re guilty, you can atone for your sins. When you failed—that’s the end. That’s it.

You’re done.

Your nail beds bled from being worn down and you wandered Central command like a ghost looking for its tether. It wasn’t right. It couldn’t be right. In just a year or so, _he’d done it_. The little rascal who ate all the cookies and never drank his milk had finished his state alchemist’s written exam in a better percentile than you had. It was going to happen. It was all the Fuhrer could even talk about; the twelve year old boy with the _astounding_ grasp on alchemy. If only the Fuhrer knew what Ed’s vomit smelled like when he was sick and crying for his mother… if only the Fuhrer knew Ed’s toothless grin like you did, if only—

You drove your fist through the plaster wall to halt the memories, tears welling in your eyes. A private screamed with shock as you withdrew the shattered hand, bleeding as sharp and dull pains wrapped around the shredded flesh. 

“A-are you okay?!” she exclaimed fretfully, but you ignored her, shaking your head. You hated yourself. You were done. Finished. You had failed to protect those boys—you had failed to save their mother—what was next? What other screw-ups could you accomplish in this life? Only God knew what other good things you could destroy. 

You held your broken hand to your chest and kept meandering the halls, ignoring the strange looks you got. The pain eased some of the hurt in your heart. Still, each step you took reminded you of another failure. Another life you had taken or failed to save. Somebody had looked in your eyes as you manipulated the particles of their being; people, hundred of people had seen you as their last image of life before dying. They deserved better. No, they deserved life, and you had taken that from them. Your bracelets jangled on your wrists as you walked. God, how had you failed so badly?

Finally you decided that you might as well head home. You hadn’t seen Roy since he’d mentioned the Elrics to you—you had been avoiding his office and his men like they were a plague. You’d been a failure of an officer, too, refusing to do your work. In a way you were hoping that the Fuhrer would take your stripes. If he did, it’d be like he were erasing prisoner’s stripes, and you would be free. But no. You were too ‘valuable’ and you were coddled; so what if you didn’t turn in any paperwork? So what if you slept around, getting drunk and getting high—at least you were still attached to the State’s ankle. You hated it. Still, you could hate nothing as much as you hated yourself.

Your hand was in such pain by the time you had walked the fourty blocks to Roy’s apartment that your thoughts were scrambling incoherently. All you could think about was the pain in your hand. You grabbed a discarded cloth from the kitchen and clumsily wrapped it around your bloody, messily clotted fingers and went up to the bedroom. Maybe you could find relief in sleep. You hesitated on the steps suddenly—no, sleep wouldn’t help. In sleep you would find discarded memories. Nightmares. The red eyes flashed across your retinas and you physically recoiled, a small moan of plea in your throat. Sleep was not in the question. So then what?

Right. Despite your effort to deny it, you still knew Roy. At least, you thought you did. And at least, you only thought you knew a previous version of him. You jogged back downstairs into the kitchen and eyed the drawers. One had a brass knob instead of a copper one and you pulled at it, its inability to budge affirming your suspicions. Awkwardly with the one hand, you found a long metal ladle thrown in some other cupboard. It had been a housewarming gift so many years ago, and you couldn’t even remember having seen it since then. You wedged it into the drawer and after snapping the reinforced steel, realized that it wasn’t just jammed. Dropping to your knees you leant forwards and realized that with a pin, a small superficial bonding transmutation circle had been scribed onto the wood. Roy had always been good with chemical circles but had struggled with biological ones. That had always been _your_ field. You easily defaced the sketch with your nail and the drawer slid out as if nothing had ever happened. In it, one small glass jar with a piece of tape wrapped around it read in neat cursive:

_Heroin Hydrochloride, wat. sol. salt_

You held it in your fingers. It was only filled halfway and you knew that Roy hadn’t touched it in some time, judging from the accumulated dust. Maybe he’d even forgotten. It was simple deduction to believe that he had it in the house before your reappearance, and that was why he had been so bold to leave drugs in the same house as an addict. The salt shifted in the glass like sand of an hourglass. You watched it, mesmerized. 

If you are guilty, you can pray. If you failed, that’s the end. 

The salt in the jar ticked away, poured into a wobbly glass of water. Roy had thrown all the alcohol out, even the good wine, knowing full well that you’d have gotten rid of it for him. It was almost hilarious to see him put away the thousand-buck Champagne. Roy Mustang, a man of nothing but good taste and honour, choosing the livelihood of a broken ex over expensive wine. It was a good joke. 

He was apparently to be sent to the Eastern Command HQ sometime the following year. He’d talked about it briefly but you hadn’t really listened. Now you wished you had. Now you wished that you had known everything about him, the new him, the one you hadn’t been there to see properly. The jar was empty and you dropped it on the floor, expecting it to shatter. Instead it merely bounced and rolled away, clattering on the tiles. Fine. At least _something_ here was strong. At least _something_ didn’t break when you touched it.

You stirred the drink absentmindedly. A dosage this high would kill you. That much was guaranteed. A dosage this high would mean that you’d go to sleep but you’d never wake up. What was on the other side? Was there an ‘other side’ for people like you? Was there nothing, or was there Hell? 

You didn’t have anything to lose. It was already Hell for you. 

Might as well find out for yourself.

You tipped back the drink like you had so many before that and sat politely at the dinner table, alone, ghostly images of those boys in the chairs in front of you. Faintly you could hear Roy and Riza laugh over a joke; there was a roast on the table in order to celebrate Christmas Eve. Trisha was smiling at you. Her arms were open and you reached—a mother’s warmth you had never felt—

And then the sands of your hourglass ran out.


	8. [viii] - Discounted Memories

“Hawkeye.”

“Sir.” Riza stood to attention and walked to Roy’s desk, cocking her head slightly. She waited for command almost awkwardly as Roy rubbed his temples.

“You… haven’t seen Vena around, have you?”

“Her? …no sir. I haven’t.” The sudden personal question surprised her but she said nothing of it, judging silently instead. Her eyes flicked to his defeated expression. “If you will hear my opinion, sir?”

“Granted.”

“I think she’s avoiding you.”

He sighed. “Figured. She hates me for recruiting those Elric boys, but I didn’t force them into anything. I just told them what they could do.”

“Don't forget that _you_ forced _her_ back. Sir.”

He looked up at her and Riza pressed her lips together. You had been her best friend and although she regretted that sharp retort, she also was glad that she had said it aloud.

“I know.”

The sudden admittance of guilt from him actually had Riza’s mind wheeling. Things were worse than she thought.

“Sir, have you been sleeping?”

“What?” Roy looked back up and Riza could fully see the dark circles outlining his Xingese eyes. He rubbed them and yawned, as if on cue. “No, I… I haven’t gone home in a couple of days. This draft is taking a lot out of me.”

“You should go home.”

“I know, but… maybe it’s cowardly of me, but if I leave this office, I have a higher chance of running into her.” He hesitated before giving her a short glance. “I want you to find her.”

“Find… Major Vena?” she repeated slowly, even more surprised. Normally Roy would leave his ex to her own self-destructive devices, not complaining or intervening, as if free will in her pursuit of self-harm would atone for the harm he had done to her. “Sir, you know it’s impossible to find somebody who doesn’t want to be found.”

“Do the impossible and maybe then I’ll sleep. I just… I have a bad feeling.”

Riza saluted. “Sir. I’ll search for her after finishing my final draft for the write-up.”

“Good. Thank you.”

She sat back down at her desk, sharp eyes gliding over to him every now and then to wonder just how bad he was. A short while later the Elric boys came in, door swinging open and banging on its stopper loudly. Edward was already talking as he came in.

“…remember, Al?”

“No… I don’t really have many memories from before Mom passed away. They’re too fuzzy.”

The younger brother’s tinny voice jerked Roy out of his dazed half-asleep state and he blinked himself awake, only becoming fully aware when Edward continued.

“I don’t remember her name or face. But we definitely had some sort of babysitter around that time and she was really nice to us. I wonder if she still lives in Resembool… maybe we should ask Granny Pinako.”

 _Reyna Blackwood._

“Boys,” he greeted suddenly in order to catch their attention. Edward sneered at him, as always, but Roy’s heart was pounding too hard for him to care. He hadn’t expected them to remember her, but there was nobody else it could be.

“You called us, Mustang?” Edward asked disinterestedly, ignoring Roy’s rank. Roy didn’t even care. He had to figure out what to say… Riza’s eyes were on him and he could tell she was looking at his eyes. Snipers always looked for the eyes before they took the shot.

“What were you talking about?” Roy asked casually, propping his head up on his desk. He was fully prepared to hear the teenager say ‘nothing!’ but instead, Edward’s golden eyes softened slightly.

“I was talking to Al about a babysitter we used to have.”

“Babysitters come and go. Was she that special to you? First love, maybe?” Roy asked in a teasing way to conceal his growing fears.

“Shut up, old man! But it doesn’t matter. I don’t remember anything much. But it’s nice to think back onto nice things.”

“Well,” Roy said stately. “Nice things are over now. Welcome to the military, dog. It’s time that you forget about your past. There’s only the future now.”

Edward’s face flashed with pain but he nodded disgruntledly after a beat. “Yeah, guess you’re right. We shouldn’t think about the past for too long. Right, Al?”

“Right.” The seven-foot piece of metal shifted creakily. “It’s time to move forwards.”

When they left, Riza approached his desk again, dropping her paperwork off neatly. Roy’s mouth opened for a bureaucratic ‘thank you’ when she asked,

“Why did you discount their memories like that? They were talking about her, weren’t they?”

Roy’s gratitude dissolved into a tight line of discomforted despair. “Yes. They were.”

“And you won’t tell them? You won’t tell _her_?”

“It’s better this way,” he sighed, leaning his head into his steepled hands as if they were in prayer. “I can’t… I can’t bear to see her break like that. When I took her away from them, she was so broken… I can’t see that happen again.”

“So your solution is to make sure she’s never happy again,” Riza decided with a faint tone of acrid disgust. “Permission to make a point, sir?”

“I have a feeling you’ll tell me even if I deny it.”

“You’re a selfish son of a bitch. I hope I don’t find her so she doesn’t have to face you. _Sir_.”

She left and Roy laughed to himself bitterly, hands still clasped together, as if that might make God listen to his pleas.


	9. [ix] - Atonement and Will

Mustang’s neighbours weren’t very neighbourly to him. He was hardly home, kept away at work, and the most they knew of him was that he was a ranking officer. At most, they nodded grimly at him. 

That was why it was strange to see them all crowded in front of his flat door.

“Excuse me,” he called out, his authoritative voice rolling over the crowd. Mutters burst out like sprinkles of autumnal showers, cold and drenching him to his soul.

“That’s him…”

“It’s him? That’s him?”

“Does he know?”

“Is a Lieutenant Hawkeye here?” he asked the nearest woman, who was shaking badly. “Or a Major Vena?” The woman didn’t seem to speak Amestrian, only responding by shaking harder, which ticked Mustang off. He spoke slower as if that would help the foreign woman understand. “Woman. Blond? Dark hair, small eyes? ” He mimicked his words on his face and her eyes widened with recognition at the last one. His blood cooled. Vena.

“Gone!” the lady managed in a heavily accented voice. His nose couldn’t help but curl with discontent—despite the fact that he too, must have had Xingese blood at one point, Xingese immigrants did little more for Amestris than work on the roads and railways for the Fatherland. The old woman was shaking but managed to make a cross on her chest. Mustang’s eyes narrowed.

“Gone? Where? Did she leave here?”

“Dead.”

The voice of a younger person came from behind the woman’s legs and he looked down, seeing what looked like a five year old boy. He cringed under Mustang’s gaze but at least seemed to be able to speak Amestrian. Mustang crouched seriously, stifling his desire to yell.

“What did you say?”

“The Xingese woman and the blond woman were here. The ambulance came. The blonde lady said the Xingese girl was dead. Mom’s scared. Are they going to kill the Xingese like they killed the Ishvalans…?”

Mustang ignored the boy’s question and was already running into the apartment, flinging people out of his way. The first place he went was to the kitchen. He’d already cleared all guns out of the place—but there was something he felt that he had forgotten, something he remembered just now—

His foot kicked the pill bottle on the floor. He swallowed sour bile and turned heel, sprinting out the complex to his car.

\---

“Hawkeye!”

“Sir…” The lieutenant looked up, tears welled, round in her red rimmed eyes. She patted them dry with a sleeve and stood at attention. Mustang breathed hard from the run, his body trembling like the woman outside his flat.

“Dead? Is she fucking dead?!”

“No,” she replied quickly, wasting no time. Mustang, in a moment of great weakness, let out a gasp of relief and fell against the wall, needing its support to stay standing. He ran jittering hands through his hair.

“Thank God… Thank God…”

“But… she could be. They brought in the doctors to see what they could do, but her heart stopped beating twice already.”

“What?” He looked up. “She’s going to die anyways?”

“No. But if she gives up, she might.”

“That’s it. I’m going in there.”

“Sir.” Riza’s hand shot out and grasped onto his wrist with painful strength. “Are you sure that’s wise? I said, if she gives up—”

He shook her off. “I have a couple of things to say to that damn woman before she kicks the bucket.”

\---

“Colonel.” The doctor saluted. Roy nodded grimly, his eyes falling onto your face. You were in a poor state, your skin pale and blotchy, lavender bruising down the side of your jaw. Your blue-violet veins streaked through your skin, bulging at the arms like angry spiders. He could’ve easily thought you to be dead.

“How is she?”

“Weak. For now, she is alive. We’ll be able to monitor her position best once she wakes. Well… if.”

“Dismissed.”

“…sir.” The doctor seemed to hesitate but agreed, picking up his medical supplies. “Please page me if there is any issue.”

Roy ignored him, moving to your bedside. He sat heavily and looked down at your face, your eyes still behind paper thin eyelids. 

He had already been a murderer, but he never thought that you would’ve been one of his casualties. 

“You don’t have a reason to live… and I understand that.” 

He spoke to you gently, like he would’ve if you were asleep. He hoped that deep in the vestiges of your brain, you were listening. Knowing you, you would’ve ignored him anyways, but he kept talking.

“God… seeing those people outside our door. We’ve never been that popular. You have no idea… how afraid I was. I’ve never been this scared. Not even in Ishval.” He rubbed his eyes as a painful memory seared into his eyes, pressing hotly into his retinas like a branding iron. Red eyes. Red blood. No, there had never been blood when he was around, because it would burn away with the skin. White hospital bed, white bones. That was more fitting.

“Ishval fucked us all, Vena. The State said it was a good thing. We suppressed a revolution. Who knows how many Amestrians would’ve died if we hadn’t done what we did…? That’s what they said. We saved lives by killing off some. That was one of the questions on the state admission exam. Do you remember? It was a while ago, but I remember that question. ‘If you are to murder your closest friend for the lives of five strangers, or exchange the lives of five for your closest friend, who would you slay?’

I chose to kill my closest friend. That’s the type I am. That’s the type they’re looking for. But could I do it? Could I kill Hughes or Hawkeye or… you? For five strangers? That’s not equivalent exchange… We killed hundreds of thousands of Ishvalans. For how many Amestrian lives? Is there equivalent exchange there?

I heard you talking in your sleep. I know you think it’s a cover-up for a genocide but… you’re not wrong. You’re absolutely right. It was a genocide. We killed people… because they weren’t like us. And maybe you killed yourself in Ishval, too.”

He took a breath and paused as he looked down at your face. You hadn’t stirred in the slightest, but he kept talking, tears stinging at his exhausted eyes.

“I know you don’t think you have a will to live. Hughes found it in his wife… Hawkeye found it in me… and I found mine in the Fuhrer. You promised me that you would help me to the top. I beg of you. Find that will to live again. Find it in me.”

He reached for your hand, wincing at how deathly cool it was in his palm. It felt so brittle and fragile that he didn’t move it, instead, warming it between his own hands. 

“You can’t atone for your sins with your death,” he suddenly said in a much more grievous tone. His hands tightened around yours. “One death for a hundred thousand isn’t good enough, Vena. You know what is? Saving them. When I’m Fuhrer, there’ll be no genocides. The Xingese immigrants…” He thought of the woman and her son and felt the heavy pang of guilt for feeling so repulsed. The State was whispering to him in bed much more closely than he had thought. “They’ll have rights. Everybody will have rights. So you need to save their lives. You want to atone? You want to find a fucking excuse to live? Find it in me.”

When he let go of your hands, he realized that your eyes were open, and that you were looking straight at him.


	10. [x] - Choices At Sundown

“Thank you, Doctor…”

“Call me if you need me.” The old man’s glassy eyes turned to Roy for a hesitant second but then he shook his head. The door shut creakily behind him and suddenly, there was silence, and all you could hear was the ticking of Roy’s pocket watch. You didn’t know where yours was. When you raised a hand, your bracelets jangled, and there were also hand-cuffs linking you to the iron bars of the bed. It was like they were chaining you down in the mortal world.

You were a prisoner of life.

“Do you have anything to say?” he asked abruptly, his gaze averted harshly away from yours. You stared at him but then glanced away, looking out the window. It was a courtyard view and the only thing you could see were more State buildings. It was funny that your only view of the outdoors was of the very Hell that held you.

“You scared Hawkeye,” Roy continued, despite your stubborn lack of communication. Your mouth twitched guiltily in response. She’d probably be the one to kill you when she laid eyes on you. Adding on, he said, “Fuery cried, you know?”

Poor Kain… you could see it clearly. Why should he cry over your suicide? He was too kind for the military, too soft. Who else had been affected? Who hadn’t cared at all? Then Roy stood, surprising you, because you’d expected him to sit at your bedside until you coughed up an explanation for what you’d done. He stood at attention with his back away from you, and with a startling jolt he looked remarkably like Fuhrer Bradley. 

“At sundown… I want an answer from you.”

Your mind was still muddled with the lingering after effects of the drug. Too slow to comprehend, you finally sighed in defeat, asking hoarsely, “what… do you mean?”

“If you still want to die, I’ll kill you myself. Do you understand?” He cocked his head. “I want an answer.” He turned and glanced down at you shortly, his coal black eyes gleaming in the flickering white industrial lighting. He opened his mouth to say something else before the door burst open, almost comically so, a set of clamouring voices setting pains in your skull off like an alarm.

“ _Mustang_ , you _jerk_! I can’t believe you sent us off on a wild goose chase! What kind of a sick man are you?!”

“B-brother, calm down! There’s somebody else here!”

“ _Wha—_ oh.”

At the foot of your bed was a golden haired boy and a suit of armour. You stared blearily.

“Sorry miss, didn’t mean to disturb you. We’ll just be borrowing M—the, uh Colonel, if that’s okay with you.” The boy had a braid and scratched his head sheepishly with stiff movements.

“Your arm is metal,” you muttered breathily, your voice too weak to carry any strength. Your eyes turned to the other one, and you knew that there was no way the frail Alphonse could’ve grown to six feet. They had been so small before—maybe you were hallucinating? “And you…”

“Brother!” the metal one tried to whisper discreetly, his voice coming out in a tinny echo. They didn’t seem to have heard you. “We should go!”

“Oh! R-right! We’re not done yet, Mustang!”

Edward Elric turned heel and began to stalk out the room. You stared, wide-eyed, the sluggishness of your mind finally a blessing to you as you weren’t able to comprehend the severity of the re-encounter. Alphonse bowed to you and chased after his brother before stopping, the tip of the horse’s hair on his helmet grazing the top of the door. He turned around loudly.

“Do… I know you, Miss?”

“Alphonse—!”

You quieted Roy’s panicked response by grasping onto his wrist, squeezing weakly. You looked at Alphonse carefully, your eyes gliding over the sharp details of steel. He had used to be so soft and warm, and now…

“Al, what’s up?”

Edward poked a head back into the room. His eyes met yours for a split second before he looked away, back to his brother. He was saying something that you couldn’t follow, still trying to process the events of what was happening. You could tell that he had automail, his short yet stout body misaligned in a way that indicated half man, half metal. What had Roy told you? They’d dubbed him the FullMetal Alchemist? It was sick. These children… the ones who had saved you and restored your faith in the world, and in life…! In one second, you could tell them, _I know you_.

But… they weren’t yours to destroy any longer. You were the Drawing Life Alchemist, but you needed to draw the line. 

“I’ve never met you before,” you forced through teary eyes. Roy stared at you with wide eyes but broke out of it quickly, clapping his hands together and ushering the two out of the room.

“You must be mistaking her then. Major Vena’s merely one of many State Dogs. Why do you ask? Have a crush on her, Al?”

“Mustang, I’m still mad at—!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.”

When the door closed again he took a while to look back at you. When he did, his face was gaunt, twenty years stacked onto his dark face.

“So… you made one choice, didn’t you?”

You closed your eyes.

“Vena. I’ll be back at sundown for the other.”

And then he left. The door shut behind him and you were left alone with your empty mind and your empty soul. When you fully realized what you’d given up, it hurt too much to cry, so you closed your eyes and waited for sundown instead.


	11. [xi] - Mutual Support

Nobody else came to disturb you. The halls were deathly quiet, too, and the constant dissociation of the remnants of your mind made you start to doubt that you still were alive after all. You stared up at the plain white plaster ceiling, unblinking, unthinking.

He’d asked you for your choice. You still hadn’t thought about it. Did you really want to die? You knew that he’d do it—he’d kill you if you asked. You didn’t know how he’d do it, but he would. You didn’t know if he’d hesitate or not, but he always got the job done. Maybe he’d burn you or maybe he’d just give you a gun and turn his back. In any case, you knew that he loved you enough to let you go if you asked.

So should you?

When you finally felt well enough to sit up without vomiting, you managed to rip the needles from your veins. There were no alarms, to your relief, and you stretched sore muscles. The detached tubes spurted clear liquid sadly and you left them hanging, purging saline pooling on the floor like clear blood. Or vodka. God, how you wished you had vodka… in a way, your mind was already muddled the way it did when you were drunk, but you had taken an affinity to the taste of the Drachman beverage. It was the only time you ever felt close to your adoptive father.

You wanted to get out of bed, only to remember that you were still shackled down when your wrist jerked back. Nobody had thought to take off your alchemy bracelets and despite having weakened abilities without the pocket watch, you were able to change the composition of the steel cuffs and shatter them with a gentle touch. 

“I am a God,” you said to yourself stupidly, before snorting harshly. That was what everybody thought. Doctors thought they were gods for saving lives, teachers thought they were gods for shaping minds, and alchemists thought they were god because they altered God’s creations. But you were fairly sure that if God were real, he should’ve been spending time preventing the deaths of innocents instead of playing around with cuffies.

Your ‘ability’, as people had euphemised, had been taught to you by the Drachman professor Alexei Vena against your will. Despite your numerous attempts to run away, he always managed to find you, citing his actions of saving your life and raising you when you pleaded against him. He barely did either, but you were only alive because of him, and in that sick way he found your obligation.

The Drachman runaway and political fugitive was a genius, if not insane. But his work in bioalchemy had been rejected at his university back home. It was too unethical, too cruel even for them. The proud professor wouldn’t have any of it. The thesis he’d spent his life on was practically flawless, he said, over and over to you as you nursed your new wounds. Apparently, he’d even gone far enough as to give a personal demonstration to the Tsar, free of charge. 

He’d always had a smile on his face when he talked about the fall of the Tsarist Regime.

That was how you had learnt. You’d never asked questions and you never knew how it worked—if you were to pass it off, you didn’t know how you could. You were just able to _do_ it. It didn’t matter, because you never wanted to ask, anyways. Professor Vena had rambled, slipping between languages about your Xingese blood, but you paid it no mind. You were just his freed oriental slave girl charity case. How did a couple of transmutation circles give you the ability to manipulate the energy levels at the atomic level? What gave you the right to kill with that ability? That question lay with God, who apparently, had better things to do than play with cuffies.

You hobbled to the window. Despite only having been out for a few hours, you felt as if every muscle in your body had atrophied and died. Good for them. Still, you managed the ten or twenty steps in due time, leaning hard against the sill and panting pathetically for breath. The glass window could not be opened and you almost cursed. Instead, you leant against the cold glass as you peered downwards. Rows and rows of identical windows filled your vision. They sparkled orange.

It was sundown.

It had totally darkened by the time Roy came back. Maybe he was wandering the halls, trying to prolong it. You wished that he’d just come to hear your answer. You hadn’t left your room or tried to escape, too exhausted to even think about it. It took enough effort to breathe. If you wanted to, you could’ve held your breath and died that way—but air came rattling down your throat in shallow time anyways, each tasting incredibly sour. He found you sitting on the floor in the corner, braiding your hair absentmindedly like a bored child. Wordlessly the man lifted you, like he might an infant, and sat you back down in the bed. He picked up the broken handcuff, studying the charred black metal-turned-graphite. He then tossed it to the floor expressionlessly, taking his seat in the single chair at your bedside. His hands were clasped and his head bowed to the floor so that you couldn’t see his face.

“So?”

“So.”

“You’ve reached a decision. I can tell.” He didn’t bother to look up at you as he talked, his voice sounding as tired as you felt.

“Yes. I have.” You twiddled with the ends of your hairs, hearing them grind against each other.

“You gonna’ tell me your decision?” he asked. 

“Mustang. Roy. You… already know what I’ve chosen.”

He snorted, his whole body jerking with the movement. “Yeah, I know you so well. I thought I knew you back then and you ran on me. I thought I knew you now and you tried to die on me. What makes you think I know what you want now?”

“You do. I know you do.”

Finally, he sat up, his dark gaze on you. Deep half moons lined his under eyes, matching the shade of his dark irises. His skin was pale and blotchy, and you spied a forgotten patch of facial hair left unshaved on his chin. 

“Are you sure?” he whispered, slumping back. His brow was slightly furrowed with confusion but then he glanced away, his expression relaxing into that of pure exhaustion yet again. He inhaled deeply, eyes closed. “No, of course you’re sure. You’re always sure.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” Your hands fell into your lap and your head fell forwards, bowing, as if for forgiveness.

He sat up and came forwards. Heavy state-issued boots hit the floor. He frowned, looking you over, broken and battered and bruising and sick. Suddenly he was on top of you, his much stronger body framing you up as his arms encircled you. He pulled you tight into him, in a way where you could hardly breathe, dull aches of pain twanging all along your joints. His smell was in your nose and his hair prickled your hypersensitive skin.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, “but I know that you thought about it enough, so I’m not going to question you.”

“I’m sorry too,” you murmured. He pulled away long enough to look at you, sunken and sallow but eyes full of bright tears.

“Thank you… for choosing _me_.”

“I would’ve chosen you if I had asked you to murder me anyways,” you replied dreamily, closing your eyes as he adjusted his hold to you more comfortably. “You just wouldn’t feel that way now, but maybe… ten or twenty years down the road, you would’ve thanked me for choosing you. Maybe I’d be happier then too.”

Your forehead pressed against his shoulder and you felt twenty young again, naive but carefree, your evenings full of partying and fun at the academy rather than questions of mortality in a hospital bed.

Should you live or should you die? What did you have to live for, and why?

You held him and he held you. Holding each other like this felt more close than anything else you’d ever done—you’d seen him naked, you’d had him in you and around you, you’d kissed him until you were close to passing out, but just _holding_ him, and the raw feeling of being held was more intimate than ever before. 

But it wasn’t love.

It was just… mutual support. 

And that was the most heartbreaking thing.


	12. [xii] - The Movement of Time

“How’s the trade relation project going with Xing?”

“Eh, the chinks? Dunno, don’t care. Not like we need their bad mojo in Amestris when the Fuhrer’s already brought the Fatherland back to greatness anyways.” 

The men standing in the hall talked loudly. You sighed loudly through your nose disgruntledly, half-hoping that they’d hear you so that you could be justified in telling them off—but they didn’t, walking away, their voices receding.

Your lips tightened into a thin line and you felt self-conscious of your looks. Having low self-esteem was practically on your ID card, but you’d never felt lowly about your appearance. Perhaps you could ask Riza to dye your hair blonde for you. Would that help? A new version of you? Probably not. You’d look tacky and stupid. Nobody would want to help you, either. You were on your own in the helping department. 

If there was one good thing you’d learnt in Ishval, it was not to expect anything at all from anybody else. Everybody was just as fucked up or even more fucked than you were, and the morality of humanity was little more than a desperate excuse to separate man from monkey. Nobody was going to help you. Nobody wanted to help you. And you had to be okay with that.

Nobody said anything. Kain cried, yet again, but mutedly—there’d been some sort of unspoken agreement to put it past you, to act as if you weren’t supposed to be dead. To act as if you’d just been out under the weather instead of under the spectrum of life. Roy had you moved and instated in his team, which had caused some muttered scepticism from the brass. After all, it was dodgy to have a major, especially a war ‘hero’, becoming an insubordinate rather than a unit leader. You knew that he had done it to keep an eye on you. After all, you’d lost what little trust he’d had in you. And you knew that Roy was lucky to have been able to done it at all, what with the Fuhrer’s hand gripping the leather leash around your neck. 

Still, not much changed. The Fuhrer visited your hospital room and expressed condolences. You didn’t think they were sincere, and you knew King Bradley’s only emotion had been relief that his prize doggy hadn’t kicked the bucket before you could play out Drachma’s prized research to the fullest. Unfortunately, you hadn’t toppled a centuries old political system and caused a major uprising like the old man had—but who knew. If Roy succeeded, your dead daddy might actually be proud of you for once.

Sticking to the trend of staying static, Roy refused to sell the house for the East transfer. Despite the fact that you both knew that the house had never been and wouldn’t be properly lived in for a while, he refused to lease it. You were no shrink, by any means, but you at least knew what it felt like to hold onto things that should’ve been let go long ago. You hadn’t pegged him for the sentimental type, but you didn’t mind. He had the right to do what he wanted with his belongings, and that included you.

“Major Vena?”

“Yes.”

You pushed yourself off the wall as the receptionist passed you a stack of heavy papers. You tucked the package under your arm as she listed them off on her fingers.

“Your official reinstatement forms, your transfer forms, some miscellaneous mail, and…”

The woman placed your pocket watch on the counter.

“Your State Alchemist’s watch.”

Tucking it back into your pocket, you couldn’t help but feel as if you’d just hooked a cold weight back onto your soul.

\---

Time moved like tragedy moved—slow, barely there, not at all—and then too much at once.

It had been a late night, early day. It was always late. Roy worked you to the bone, probably as penance for what you’d done. In a way you were grateful, but it was also petty—God wasn’t going to forgive you for killing children just because you agreed to pushin’ papers for Roy Mustang. In any case, you took what you could get. You wiped down his windows and you did his laundry. You ran from department to department to unit to unit and then to meeting boards and then to the higher ups (salutations, sir!) and lower downs (as you were!) and then everybody in between. 

The red tape also marked you like electrical fencing did and kept you out of the field.

No field, no alchemy. No more death. No more ‘drawing from life’. King Bradley frowned upon it but said nothing. It was fine with you. As some sort of sick bonus, you were dead tired from having to do his menial chores, and that let you sleep easy. Dreamlessly, too. He kept you clean, and maybe you were resentful, but at least you were sleeping dreamlessly. That much was fine. Time moved slow. 

And then… time moved too fast.

“I—you’re sure?” you asked weakly, your voice dropping to a hushed whisper. You were always home late but Roy was later, often overnighting at the office so that the box apartment stayed empty and cold. As such you were the only one there to pick up the phone. But suddenly, you wished that you’d stayed at headquarters to mop the floor after all.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m sorry for your loss.” She wasn’t sorry. It was a trivial thing to say. You knew she had nothing else to say, but you knew she wasn’t sorry.

“Yes… okay, thank you. Wait—actually, m-may I ask a question?”

“Yes, you may, ma’am.”

“How did he… die?”

“Vena, you home?”

You jumped with a startled gasp as the door clattered to a shut. The one-bedroom one-floor flat was openly despised by Rich Boy-Toy Roy and he complained about it every chance he got, tonight being no exception. You heard rustling as he hung his coat up, stomping around the corner.

“Honestly… no damn room to do anything, no damn room to breathe. We ought to move in with Hawkeye. At least she’s got an actual house out East. I get stuck with shitty state-funded residence. God.”

“Major Vena?” the secretary asked, puzzled by your silence.

“Thank you for letting us know,” you dismissed quickly, hanging up. Roy rounded the corner as you hastily repositioned the telephone and he froze in the hall, almond eyes narrowing.

“Who was that?” he asked. You swallowed hard.

“It was… um, the office. They asked me to go back.”

Your heart raged. He stared hard. He knew you were lying—Roy always knew. You were about to open your mouth to apologize—but then he sighed, cracking his neck and turning away. When his eyes left you it was like time started to tick forwards again, falling out of paralysis. Your lungs collapsed from a breath you’d been holding too long.

“Okay, well, I’ll be asleep. In the shitty bed.” He waved as he turned around, flopping into the too-small cot wordlessly. You crept around him, watching him to see if he’d spring up and yell. You were used to the yelling, but you didn’t think you could take it right now. To your relief, a long snore filled the air, telling you that he’d fallen asleep before he could kick his shoes off. When you managed to get out of the door, the tears finally fell.

“God, Hughes…” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut.

\---

“You kept it from me.”

Your eyes slid to his slowly as the people dispersed. Because the ceremonies were always held in Central and away from your temporary home, it had been hard to find the proper attire to groom yourself. But you didn’t think Hughes would’ve cared if your medals were crooked or if your skirt hadn’t been ironed in a decade. He was too easy-going for that. He was too… well, he was too good. He was a good friend and a good man. Now, he was good and dead.

“Yes,” you sighed, slumping somewhat as you braced yourself.

“Did you think you were doing me a favour?” he spat on cue, turning to glare at you. His voice betrayed a harsh edge of flaming anger, but his eyes were fragile. They were sad and mismatching with that fury. You shifted in uncomfortable heels.

“I didn’t want to be the one to tell you,” you admitted. “It was cowardly of me. Or maybe I was trying to give you more time when you thought everything was okay.”

“He was my best friend, Vena. He was my… he was my—!”

He choked back words and tears and turned away again, staring down hard at the granite head stone. The freshly turned dirt smelled gently of Earth and moss, but it was also acrid, turning your stomach when you thought about his body. His casket was empty, though. He’d signed to be an organ donor in the case of death. Always giving, even after life. That was the man he was.

Was, because he was dead.

Time was suddenly too slow again.

“Do you know what was on his forms?” Roy blurted out suddenly, wet tears rolling down his cheeks. His tone was steadier suddenly, though, and you listened reluctantly.

“No, I don’t.”

“DNR. Do not fuckin’ resuscitate. If he’d dropped dead from a heart attack, people wouldn’t be allowed to push on his chest. What the hell…” He looked at you, a draft of horror sketched across his pallid face. “…was wrong with him? He has a wife. And… a kid. He wouldn’t shut the fuck up about them and he didn’t want anybody… to push on his chest and bring him back to life. He wanted—”

“To die,” you finished simply, laying a hand on his arm. It tensed underneath your touch. “Deep down inside, he wanted to die.” When you looked at Roy, he stood tall and straight, an image of a man that was all right. It was the him from the past. Time had flown backwards. Because the him now was locked in the present, screaming with a agony and distress, pleading for help—

But if there was one thing you had learnt in Ishval, it was that nobody was going to help you.

“…funny,” he muttered suddenly. His body slumped back into the now and his voice shuddered as he spoke. “I always thought he was the most sane out of all of us.”

“No,” you murmured softly. “He was like us. Just looks like he was just better at hiding it.”

Roy’s fists were clenched at his side and he glanced over at you.

“Do _you_ have DNR on your record?” he asked in a low voice.

“I have a feeling that when I die, it’ll be in a way where pushing on my chest isn’t going to do much.” Wryly, you smiled, your own tears wetting your lips. “Do you?”

“I don’t. Maybe… maybe I _am_ just like the both of you. But I have something I have to do, and if I die, damn right I’m going to fight to come back.”

“Okay. That’s good.”

Suddenly you were there, bracing him, holding his weight up so that he could keep his image of the tall proud man he had been. His breathing was fast and shallow and suddenly he laughed bitterly, acid dripping from the coarse snarl.

“You’re here now, huh… you weren’t here back then when I needed you.”

“But I’m here now.” You rubbed his back as soothingly as you could, closing your eyes. “I’m here now.”

“I wish Hughes were, too…”

“Yeah. I do too.”

“Is it… is it just me, or is the sun taking too long to set? It’s too… bright. It’s too sunny.”

“The sun will set,” you said quietly. “It always does. That’s how time moves. The sun’ll set soon. And then it’ll rise.”

“The sun…” He gripped your shirt. “It takes too long to set in Ishval too.”

The haunting desert sun and the plains of white sand burned your vision and you closed your eyes. You knew he hadn’t meant to hurt you. Hughes hadn’t meant to die but he was too good—he was too good that it just hurt too much. 

“If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from Ishval…” You sighed and shook your head. Ishval had been where the two of you had first kissed. Ishval had been where _it_ had all began and Ishval had been where _it_ ended for you. Your words were resolute when you spoke, holding him up to the sky.

“It’s that… I’ll be here, now and forever, to help you stand.”

“You’re sure?” he whispered. He was vulnerable. Your answer here would affect your relationship with him for the rest of your life. Your answer here would determine whether or not it stayed as mutual support or if you were admitting to falling back in love. Was he going to fall back in love with you? That was going to be his choice. Here, at sundown, you were making your own. 

So with a nod, you pulled back, and touched the fingers of your flat right hand to your forehead. The sun dipped behind the hill and all was dark.

“Yessir. I’m sure.”


	13. [xiii] - Crosses and Crossroads

Things still didn’t move very fast. Roy developed an obsession after Hughes’ death that you couldn’t blame him for, but it turned him away from the things he used to be, and you had to admit that you were a bit doubtful if he would come back from it. If he even could. 

Your fingers tapped against the wood desk as your eyes darted around an empty office. He was out somewhere, unannounced and off record, and everybody else was kept busy trying to float Roy as he neglected the rest of his duties. Your tongue swept across your dry bottom lip and you stood suddenly. 

When was the last time you’d been kissed? It seemed like too long ago—or, had he kissed you last night? You couldn’t remember. Thoughts kept running through your head until finally, you shook your head forcibly, trying to shake out the memories. There was something you had to do. Something you should’ve done long ago, but never did—it didn’t matter when the last time you’d been kissed was. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. _You_ didn’t matter. Still, it kept pulsing in your head like a tumour that kept growing and wouldn’t go away, sucking your life force until you fed it what it wanted. You had to do this. 

Without saying a word, you booked an express ticket to Resembool, Eastern Amestris.

Roy _had_ kissed you last night, but you hadn’t remembered, and neither did he. Both of you were sober, but something had come across the both of you like a cloud of poison gas. There were violet bruises on your wrists where he’d held you down, a soreness in your throat that you willingly ignored. Just as hemlock will flower in the spring, toxicity shows itself through innocence. Neither of you could remember. Neither of you wanted to. 

Maybe that was for the better. It always had been better to forget.

\---

You couldn’t help but linger at the train station, unable to set foot off the rickety stairs into the countryside. Things had changed since you’d been here. The struts that had been built by the farmer who had owned the big cornfield were taken down and replaced with steel. You stood and stared down at the metal, remembering how hard that old man had worked here, measuring and sawing and sanding wood so that the structure would be well supported. You had given him a swig of water to make sure he wasn’t working too hard. There was no sign of the old man’s handiwork in the iron beams. If you hadn’t remembered, you wouldn’t have known at all. Your memory might’ve been false, either way. The only thing that seemed familiar was the crisp air, and you closed your eyes to breathe for a moment. The acrid, rubbery smoke of the city was absent and you could taste a distant sweetness. 

“Well if I’ll be damned. Reyna Blackwood.”

Jumpy, you nearly screamed, turning rapidly and seeing nothing. The voice continued grumpily and you looked down, gasping at the familiar sight.

“Just when you got your ass towed back out to Central, you have the nerve to show back up again. O, just let me be slain by the devil! Kids these days! Didn’t even send me a telegram or a call so that I could’ve prepared some extra stew?” 

Pinako Rockbell was already walking past you, striding down the steel supported steps without a care. Hastily, you realized yourself and scrambled after her as she continued to ramble.

“Good that you didn’t dare to wear that uniform,” she muttered to herself, spite dripping from every syllable. “Else I woulda sent you right back on the train. And you’re too damn skinny, girl! You should be eating right down there, shouldn’t you? Too busy playing fetch for Bradley?”

“Speaking like that about the Fuhrer could get you arrested,” you remarked, amused, and unable to find anything else to say. Despite the years, Pinako was the same. She was headstrong and careless, working in the present and forgetting about the past. You wished you could be the same way.

“They’ll have hell of a time trying to arrest _me_.” Suddenly, she stopped in her steps, almost getting bowled over as you staggered to the side to avoid her. She turned to you, with narrow eyes. “That why you back, Blackwood?”

“No. I’m not here to arrest you.”

“Good,” she said, seemingly satisfied. She began to march onwards and you tagged behind her again.

“Well—where are _you_ going? Don’t you want to yell at me or ask me questions?” you asked. You had been imagining this moment on the train ride a million ways, preparing for as many spews of hatred and accusations you could think up. You had never imagined that she wouldn’t care at all. Instead, she just scoffed.

“Asking an insolent brat a question ’ll get me nothing but a headache. And you want to see Trisha, don’t you?”

“…yes,” you admitted.

“Then that’s where we’re going. Hold my groceries! In all damnation, the nerve of you young people these days!”

\---

“There’s no cross,” you mused. The plain stone slab was not what you had expected. The text was cleanly engraved, but you hardly bothered to read it, instead staring at her name. Trisha Elric. She was a woman who’d made you feel human again through her own philanthropy, despite your misanthropy, yet she was the one six feet under while you knelt in the sun. You turned to Pinako. “She was a believer in God. I thought that there’d be a cross.”

“No cross,” Pinako replied simply. You shrugged and looked back to Trisha. With a hesitant hand, you reached down to touch the stone. It was smooth and cold, not at all like her warm and soft hands. Your jaw tightened but you resolved yourself.

“Trisha… I’m so, so sorry.”

The words made you feel as if something had been ripped from you and thrown away to burn. You collapsed to your knees and grasped a fistful of grass. You weren’t sure whom you were apologizing to, now, despite using her name—maybe through her you were apologizing to her God, the way you had never done before out of spite. Trisha was somebody you could face. Trisha was the one you wanted to forgive you, not God; yet Trisha was gone and God only laughed at your crying. Pinako did nothing to support you as you wept, your head bowing so low that it touched the slab of stone on the grave. 

After you exhausted yourself, you sat up, tearless and tired. Pinako was still standing there, watching you. You sniffled, wiping your face clear before looking over to the old woman. The lowlight glinted off of her glasses.

“I think I’ll be okay now,” you muttered. Whether that was true or not, you didn’t know quite yet, but she nodded wordlessly.

“Come back home and help me, then. Unless you’re leaving?”

You hesitated before shaking your head. Nobody would be missing you in Central, at least not for now, and you had missed the old woman’s company. She nodded and pointed to the bag of groceries leaning against her ankles. You reached to pick them up before an unfamiliar but recognizable voice called out.

“Granny?”

There was unmistakable clunking of metal as you got to your feet and looked. Edward and Alphonse Elric marched to their dead mother’s grave, staring at you with a mixture of understandable suspicion. Pinako gave you a short look as you attempted to make yourself small, but your presence was much too obvious, and there was no running from this. 

“I thought Winry told you to rest,” Pinako chided, turning attention away from you. The young girl’s name seared into your heart and you about doubled over, having forgotten about the little crybaby who had always liked to come over and help you bake. Edward was still glaring at you.

“Didn’t I see you in Central?” he asked with a demanding undertone. “With Mustang. You were in the hospital room.”

You were at a crossroads backlit with sunset yet again. Night was going to befall you and you had to make the choice. Edward’s eyes were gold, like two miniature suns, blazing furiously on his hard-set face. He looked the same as he had in his mother’s arms. You couldn’t run from that anymore. You had to turn and face the light.

“You saw me earlier than that.”

Pinako shot you a glare that said it all: are you sure? And truthfully, you weren’t, but you couldn’t keep running from the night like this. You voice shook as you struggled to articulate the mess of thoughts and memories. Your voice was hoarse like a child’s, and you struggled to bottle emotion, forcing yourself to speak the words you’d avoided doing so for far too long. 

“When you were young… very, very young, your mother saved me. We used to live together. But then I was taken away, and… Edward, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t help you when you needed help.”

Apologizing seemed to be a bright theme in your life right now as the young man stared up at you. Your jaw tightened but you had no more tears left to cry. If he wanted to yell, hit you—you’d allow it. You were turning now to face the sun as it disappeared away. You’d never had the courage to before, because it always felt like it’d never rise again. The only steadiness in your life had been despair. But Trisha had been a believer. She’d believed in the sunrise. 

It was time that you began to as well.

“Pinako, is she telling the truth?”

Edward’s eyes flitted to the old woman who sighed, seemingly irritated to have the attention on her when it clearly was about you. She said nothing save for a slight, haughty nod. There was a red glow in Alphonse’s helmet, dimming when the mass of armour turned to face you.

“I remember you,” he said quietly. The tone of his voice was marred by the tinny echo, but your heart stopped as you stared at him.

“You… do?”

“You were the girl who helped mom around the house,” Al continued, his voice growing louder as if he were picking up physical momentum. “You always baked us these really good cookies and made Ed drink milk all the time! Right, Brother?”

“Yeah,” Edward corroborated, suddenly adopting the same wondrous tone. It was so different from the previous one that you had to wonder if you’d heard him wrong. “Yeah, I remember! I thought I knew you from somewhere!”

“Wh-what?” you stammered. “Why aren’t you more angry at me? I abandoned you, I—”

“Well, did you?” Pinako prompted at your side, having a knowing edge behind her wry voice. “Seems to me like it’s not your choice when you get conscripted.” 

“I don’t remember your name,” Ed said a bit apologetically, “but I do know you. Man! How many years has it been, Al?”

“Too many. It’s weird how things suddenly resurface, huh?”

“Yeah, you got that right.”

Their casual banter was making your mind wheel. They didn’t hate you. They weren’t angry at you. Were they really understanding this? You could’ve saved their mother, you could’ve helped Trisha—

As if to berate you for your idiocy, a strong gust of wind blasted into your face. Your eyes slid to her gravestone, seeming to glow in the gentle light left behind as the sun slipped away behind the horizon quietly. Your anxieties softened and you felt yourself letting go. 

The path of the crossroads was soft grass and you got to your feet, reaching over. You tousled Ed’s hair like you had used to a while ago and couldn’t help a grin as he jumped away, patchy redness burning patches in his face. 

“H-hey! Just because you’re one of Mustang’s guys doesn’t mean I won’t fight you!”

“Brother, don’t talk to her like that!”

You couldn’t help the tiniest smile. Picking up the groceries by Pinako’s feet, the group trudged after her like the family you had never had. As you were leaving, you turned back to look one last time at Trisha’s grave. Despite it being cold stone, it looked warm and soft, the way her touch had always been.

 _Thanks,_ you thought, and a warm zephyr blew hair out of your face. For the first time, you felt that things had been resolved enough for you to raise your chin and pick your feet up. Reconciliation and acceptance weren’t luxuries of yours, but the fear eased for a moment. Just enough for you to stand. 

One in front of the other. Pick them up and lay them down. When the time came that you reached the end of the long walk, maybe you’d just sit down and rest.

But that time wasn’t now. You faced forwards and marched, out of time, allowing yourself a paragraph of pleasure out of the chapters of pain.


	14. [xiv] - Slow

“You’re back.”

You stopped in the doorway and looked, seeing Roy on the floor. A tall bottle of wine sat next to him, replacing a friend, and he was turning it absentmindedly.

“ _You’re_ back,” you countered, not having expected to see him after his obsession with Hughes’ death. 

“In a way,” he replied vaguely, tipping over the bottle. No fluid came out because it was already empty. The skinny-necked bottle rolled away quickly, eager to be free of him. You kicked off your shoes messily, crossing the room and sitting next to him heavily. Your neck ached from the long train rides and you leant your head against his shoulder, feeling his tense frame underneath your jaw.

“They remembered me,” you said softly, deciding that brevity would be the best course of action. Their faces flashed in your eyes distantly and you closed them, unable to mask the light smile that drifted to your lips. “And they didn’t hate me.”

“Hm. That’s good.” He sounded genuinely pleased for you and you nodded.

“Yeah. It’s nice.”

The both of you sat like that. You wouldn’t lie and say that the silence was comforting—it was awkward, and you fumbled to find words to say, but of course… there was nothing to be said. SO you waited. After a while, Roy sighed heavily and, finally, the side of his head hit the top of yours as he leant back against you. You reached a hand over and laid it on his bicep, squeezing it to remind him that you were listening.

“It’s… crashing down on me,” he murmured, the weak words seemingly foreign in his faint, once-proud voice.

“Hughes?” you questioned gently. His breath caught and he swallowed thickly, collecting his thoughts. You couldn’t see him at this angle and pictured his face, heavy with weariness.

“I didn’t believe it at first. At his funeral, I still didn’t believe it. I thought that if I didn’t believe it, it wouldn’t be true. But now… I…”

“It’s hard,” you sighed in agreement, closing your eyes as hot pinpricks of pain shot your heart. Hughes had been your friend, too, but…

“But now he’s gone.”

“I still…” Roy was rubbing his hands together, wringing them. “I’m never going to hear him talk about his stupid wife or his stupid kid. I’ll never hear his stupid laugh and I’ll never see that stupid smile again. It just hit me. It’s all… over. All this time I’ve been looking, tracking, but only now did I realize… My best friend is dead. He’s gone. _My_ best friend.”

“Yeah. He’s dead. And he’s not coming back.”

“Somebody killed him.” His voice had dropped even lower, hoarser, and he sounded like a child whispering about night terrors. His face turned into yours and his words were muffled. “I don’t know who, yet. I keep looking, but I’m chasing my own tail… what if he never finds justice because I wasn’t good enough?”

“You’ll find out,” you shushed. “But you won’t if you keep running at it like this. You need rest. You need to take it slow.”

He raised his head from you and looked at you in the eyes. Roy was much taller than you, and you weren’t often able to look at him this closely. Premature lines were beginning to show in his handsome face. His eyes were dark and sunken into his skull, weighed down by dark bags underneath his eyes. He had neglected to shave, patchy strands of coarse black hair sprouting from his chin like tree saplings.

Yet you had never found him to be more beautiful than now, when he was completely shattered. In a way he looked to be a stained glad mosaic, shards of broken pieces put back together to be even better than before. That was who he was. Roy was knit together from all the people he had been previous, but _this_ Roy—made up of the Roys you had loved and hated before— _this_ Roy was good. 

“Take it slow?” he repeated, questioning doubtfully with a deprecatory scoff. “There’s no such thing as taking it slow.”

“When have you taken the time to stop?” you challenged, taking your other hand and laying it across the rough skin of his face. You ran yours fingers along his jaw gently, hearing his breathing go ragged as you did. “When have you taken the time to grieve? To let it all come down on you so that you can pick yourself up?”

“I…”

“You need… to slow down. It’s a race, but if you exhaust yourself now, you’ll never see the end. Slow down, Roy.”

“If I slow down,” he said, trailing off into a thoughtful pause. He breathed in shakily, turning his gaze back up to you. There was wonder and fear written in his dark irises, desperate. “Who’s going to overtake me?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted softly. “But you need to slow down. You’re strong, Roy. You’ll catch up… after you take a minute to breathe.”

“Will you be there?” 

“Where?”

“At the finish line?” He was coming closer, now. Despite the wine bottle, his breath only smelled faintly of mint, and you could tell that he was sober. He’d always had a high tolerance, and you could tell that things in his brain were working, chess pieces flitting across the board. His hands were on your hips, flashing back painful memories in the shape of yellow bruises, but they were gentler now. Much gentler. Leisurely, they slipped under the casual cotton shirt you had worn, so that his palms laid on your skin. He didn’t move farther than that, warming himself with your body, and your eyelashes fluttered.

“Even better,” you whispered as his head came forwards, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“ _I’m right here._ ”

Healing was not an easy process. At times, it seemed like things were okay and then you would remember—you remembered all the things that made it awful and horrible and you were ground into the dry Earth once again. You were cracked open, left without stitches, torn from the navel to the chops and without a heart to keep yourself moving. 

You had killed people. You had killed many. Murderers, innocent, children and old—they had all lost their lives because of you. And their faces to you were blank, completely forgotten, wiped away because of the selfish emotion of guilt. You’d hurt people, too, in ways deeper than death could smile. And you had been hurt. You were still hurting.

Your shirt came off easily, as did his, as you unbuttoned it almost lethargically. Each movement from the both of you was slow and hesitant, like a cat prowling around the corners of the room to decide if it was welcome. His hand twitched on your thigh and your lips only barely brushed his collarbone.

Slowly, he kissed you, and slowly, you welcomed it.

It hurt. It was hurting and it was always going to hurt, but having Roy with you made the hurt seem a little more manageable. Slowing down had always been out of the question, because you didn’t believe in yourself enough to be able to bear the full weight of the memories. But you weren’t alone. Maybe at one point, you had been, but now… you were not alone. 

“I love you,” he breathed chokingly. Maybe it was the eruption of hormones preceding the climax prompting such sentimental words, prying them out of his mouth like teeth falling out of a child’s jaw. But then he said it again, and again, and each time you believed him a little more until finally, you believed him.

“Why do you love me?” you asked, tears in your eyes as he lay against you. His skin was clammy to the touch, but you held him anyways, your hands clutching him so that he—and all the good things that had suddenly came to be—wouldn’t disappear. “How could you?”

“How could you love _me_?”

Your eyelashes were miniature butterfly wings on his cheek until your eyelids slid shut. Maybe you wouldn’t find the answer now. But that was okay. In time, you would find out. In time, Roy would still be there, and you would be with him until you broke the ribbon at the end. If you didn’t finish the race; if you dropped out as Hughes did; then you could at least do so with the pride that you had gotten Roy to take this step here. Your fingers unclenched, letting him go, because you could trust that he’d still be there.

“I love you too.”

Whoever spoke it, you didn’t know. But the words went back and forth all night until both of you were finally sure.


	15. [xv] - You Have My Word

Life happened. It came and it passed in a flash of light. If the Earth’s time had been materialized into a clock, merely a billionth of a tenth of a second had passed, and dinosaurs perished while human evolution rose from the ashes.

“It’s all over.”

You jumped, not having expected him to speak. Roy had been in and out of consciousness. At one point, his breathing had run so thin that you’d worried that he’d died in his sleep, but he rose slowly.

“Careful. You’ve been through a lot.”

You helped him up, putting a pillow behind his back. He looked uncharacteristically vulnerable in the light blue hospital gown, the dark navy cotton of his military coat discarded across a chair. You couldn’t help but smile at that. After all that, there were only pathetic little human beings underneath the stars and stripes. That was all.

And it was all over.

“Eyes?” you asked hurriedly. He turned his head to you, black eyes horribly unfocused. He shook his head and your heart panged with empathetic pain when you saw the flash of a frown cross his features.

“Dark, still. The Gates don’t play around.”

“At least you’re alive,” you sighed, “and have all of your body parts.” You reached out gently, touching his hand. He flinched, not having expected you, but his grip relaxed around yours easily. “You might not be fine, but at least you’re okay.”

“The Promised Day,” Roy mused, sinking back into his pillows. His hand clutched at yours, as if to make sure he wouldn’t drift away in his sea of darkness. “I’m still trying to believe what happened.”

“Those Elric boys were really something,” you said wryly, also closing your eyes to remember. It had all been too crisp, too much at the time—all you could really focus on were his blazing eyes, twin suns. You’d run your hand through Al’s hair, too, his freakishly skinny body like a skeleton that had clawed its way out of the Earth. Seeing him flooded you with memories of the fat kid that’d cling to your legs as a child. His soul had returned to his body. Bradley was dead. “Father” was dead. The light had defeated the darkness. Everything had changed, but it seemed like chance was going the right way. Things seemed like they were actually going to go okay, for once. 

Edward and Alphonse Elric. They were saviours, but they were still sons. No matter the power of suns inside of them, they were her sons, and they were children. They were strong, but it was time for you to repay your debts. Trisha would’ve been glad for it. 

“I still can’t believe that it’s over,” he murmured, his grip tightening around yours. “It still feels like there’s something that needs to be done… something terrible that’s going to happen.”

“There are still things that need to be done,” you agreed softly, warming his hands with yours. That was how it had always felt. From Ishval to now, there was always something bound to happen—something bad to come. You sighed, his fingers twitching underneath yours. “There are still things that need to be fixed… but you can do it. You’ve proven to me that you can.”

He was quiet for a while. For a second, you wondered if he’d fallen asleep and made to leave before he grabbed back onto your hand.

“It’s not just me that’s going to fix things. That Xingese boy, Ling—he’s gone to fix his entire nation. Those Elric boys have gone to fix their family. Our country needs fixing, too, but that will take time.”

“Yes?” you said, prompting, sensing that he had something else to say. He groped around, his hand coming close to your nose. You realized what he wanted and pulled it to your jaw, settling it to your face. His palm was rough and smelled of ash, but it was warm.

“We need fixing, too.”

You nodded, knowing he could feel it. It seemed like too much had happened between you and he to ever warrant fixing. There had been too much pain. Surely, the both of you weren’t right for each other?

But maybe that was what being soul mates meant. Maybe that was what the world _wanted_. You were as heretical as they came, but maybe bigger things lay beyond. Maybe the pain led into bigger things. Maybe there was a point to the suffering, more than a petty plea to redemption. Maybe there was a reason to go on after all.

 _Vae Victis_ : woe to the conquered. Those defeated in battle should expect nothing. Those who had lost would win nothing but suffering. Those who were unworthy were at the mercy of the greats.

But maybe you’d proved yourself wrong. You’d lost even when you’d won; you’d broken even when things were right. The Ishvalans had looked up at you with fear in their ruby red eyes; you’d been on your knees, looking up to God, looking up to bullet holes in the ceiling.

Maybe you had lost. Maybe after all of that, you’d lost the battle. 

But there was still the war, and you could still fight for peace. 

Maybe things had gone wrong with Roy—but that didn’t mean that they’d never go right. The both of you were broken, horrible people… and maybe through that, the both of you would find some gem of sobriety. The world was a cold, horrible place. You drew life from the creatures of this world, and the silver bracelets on your wrists had always sapped your warmth. 

Yet Roy was fire. Roy was light. He was warmth. He… was love.

Were you too far gone for love? Did you deserve that—did Reyna Blackwood deserve that? That wasn’t the question anymore. Whether or not you deserved it didn’t matter to anybody but you. What mattered to others was what you were going to do with it. Roy depended on you. Perhaps he wished he didn’t, and maybe he shouldn’t, but he relied on you to fan his flames or put him out. The world was bigger than you. It always had been. Ever since that day where the both of you had looked over the broken Ishvalan nation—ever since the both of you had existed in the godforsaken universe. You needed him to need you.

Roy took a breath before his palm pressed to the side of your cheek, making sure you were still there. Your eyelashes fluttered as you looked at him.

“Will you become my wife?” he asked. It was a simple statement. It wasn’t dressed up or down, and it was clear. _Marry me_. That was the way he was. 

You blinked, not having expected him to ask that so suddenly. Your mind wheeled and your heart skipped a beat, but the answer came to mind easily.

“No.”

“…no’s not an option,” he said, his eyes narrowing with confusion.

“It is, now.” You were smiling, and knowing that he couldn’t see that, you lowered his hand to your lips and kissed the fingers gently.

“You’re not the Fuhrer, yet. You haven’t fulfilled your promise, and I haven’t fulfilled mine to you. Remember? I’d see you to the top, if it’s the last thing I’ll do.”

_I don’t fancy the phrase ‘last thing I’ll do’. Implies that death is the end part of that equation._

“So you’re going to reject me?” he asked begrudgingly, picking up on your teasing tone. You felt a bit guilty for stepping on his proposal like this, but you both knew that it was the right thing to do.

“Right now, yes. It’s your incentive.”

“ _Incentive_.”

“I’ll say yes after you’re Fuhrer. I have to make sure you follow through with that. After that, my promise will have been kept, and we can start a new promise. I only think I can do one at a time. I’m too tried for much more.”

_Why is there a bullet hole in the ceiling?_

Equivalent Exchange. To take, you must give. Humankind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. How much had you lost? How little had you received?

_His foot kicked the pill bottle on the floor._

He was quiet for a while. His eyelids fluttered shut and he scoffed, his hand stretching out and cradling your jaw. You leant into his gentle touch. 

This was what you had. Maybe it wasn’t enough, or maybe it was too little. But it was what you had. It was what you could make out of it. You and Roy were in it until the end of the race.

“Fine,” he sighed, still sounding annoyed. His fingers twisted in your hair as he shook his head with disbelief. “I guess I can live with that, with one condition.”

“That is?” you asked. His expression softened.

“You keep loving me.”

You smiled into his embrace.

_You still did not know if you regretted meeting him. But you were sure that you had taken some sort of affinity to him, and to that, you knew you would never forget._

“Always. I give you my word.”

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: https://goo.gl/2wuw2P


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